BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

<> 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


"ANOTHER  JUANITA" 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


JOSEPHINE   CLIFFORD    l& 


BUFFALO 

CHARLES  WELLS  MOULTON 


COPYRIGHT,  1893, 
BY  JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD   McCRACKIN. 


PRINTED  BY 

CHARLES  WELLS  MOULTON, 
BUFFALO,  N.  Y. 


Bancroft  Library 


PREFACE  AND  DEDICATION. 

YEARS  have  passed  since  the  first  of  the  sketches  con- 
tained in  this  volume  were  written,  and  so  many  of  the 
Army  people  of  my  day  have  crossed  the  River  before  me, 
j  that  I  stand  waiting  on  this  shore,  almost  alone.     To  those 
living,  whether  grey  in  honors  when  the  chief  drama  of  my 
life  was  enacted,  or  yet  cadets  at  West  Point,  and  whose 
friends   were   my   friends,   this   book    is   inscribed,    with   a 
/  thousand  remembrances  of  acts  of  courtesy  and  chivalrous 
protection  granted. 

To  California,  which  gave  me  welcome  and  a  home  when 
my  Army  life  was  over,   I  have  endeavored  to  become  a 
3  daughter  worthy  of  the  fair  land  and  the  generous,  great- 
hearted people  who  live  in  it. 

May  their  kindness  to  me  never  grow  less. 

JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN. 

Monte  Paraiso  Rancho,  Santa  Cruz  Mountains^  Ca/., 
September  75,  1892. 


CONTENTS. 


"ANOTHER  JUANITA  " r 

CAMP  LIFE  IN  ARIZONA 29 

SAN  XAVIER  DEL  BAG 45 

CROSSING  THE  Rio  GRANDE 63 

AN  EPISODE  OF  FORT  DESOLATION 77 

TOBV    •    •    •                                                   97 

FLIGHT  !    A  SEQUEL  TO  TOBY I3I 

A  MINER  FROM  ARIZONA 160 

THAT  RANCH  OF  His 207 

THE  STORY  OF  A  GARDEN 24- 

ST.  MARY'S 2g 

MODERN  MONTEREY  


'ANOTHER  JUANITA." 


"ANOTHER  JUANITA." 

IT  was  years  ago,  before  railroads  or  street  cars  were 
even  dreamed  of  in  Albuquerque,  and  the  arrival  of  a  mili- 
tary outfit,  however  large  or  limited,  was  always  an  event  of 
some  importance,  furnishing  entertainment  for  the  unclothed 
and  unkempt  youth  of  this  ancient  town,  as  well  as  change 
and  excitement  for  the  troops  garrisoned  there. 

The  cavalcade  approaching  now  consisted  of  half  a 
dozen  men,  and  sergeant  of  Co.  N.,  ic»5th  United  States 
cavalry,  and  a  dozen  or  so  of  recruits  for  Co.  O,  of  the 
same  regiment,  stationed  at  Fort  Craig,  the  entire  outfit 
serving  as  escort  to  Captain  'Dunwood,  who  was  coming  to 
take  command  of  his  company  and  the  fort,  after  having 
passed  what  he  considered  a  very  unprofitable  winter  in 
Washington,  on  staff  duty. 

"So  Dunwood  is  coming,"  had  been  the  comment  of 
Lieutenant  Crane,  class-mate  and  best  friend  of  his  captain, 
and  whose  ruling  passion  it  was  to  pose  as  a  cynic.  '  'Why 
in  the  name  of  all  that's  sensible,  didn't  he  stay  where  he 
was  well  off,  and  where  his  military  services  were  needed, 
as  leader  of  the  German  at  evening  parties,  and  martial  lay- 
figure  at  presidential  receptions.  But  he  was  always  one  of 
the  kind  who  wanted  to  go  where  duty  called  him,  and  he 
will  find  this,  I  venture  to  say,  just  the  field  to  practice  it." 

The   younger  lieutenant,  to  whom  these  remarks  were 


4  ' ' Another  Juanita. ' ' 

addressed,  reminded  his  senior  how  he  himself  had  assured 
him  frequently  that  everybody  liked  Captain  Dunwood  in 
spite  of  his  perfections;  to  which  the  elder  laughingly 
assented,  adding  with  a  cynical  smile,  ' '  but  that  was  before 
he  had  spent  the  winter  on  staff-duty  in  Washington." 

In  the  meantime  the  captain  was  slowly  nearing  his  des- 
tination. His  tired  horse's  hoofs  pressed  on  hot  sand,  and 
the  dreary  mound,  rising  just  ahead  of  horse  and  rider, 
seemed  entirely  composed  of  this  same  material,  looking 
exactly  as  dull  yellow,  as  dry  and  as  hot  as  the  sand  under 
the  horse's  feet.  He  threw  rather  a  disconsolate  look  upon 
this  mound,  but  would  have  relapsed  into  his  former  train 
of  thought,  had  not  a  movement  among  his  men  attracted 
his  attention. 

'  'Albuquerque ! "  he  heard  some  one  say,  and  after  a 
little  he  descried  the  low,  flat-roofed  houses,  singly  or  in 
clumps  of  two  and  three,  scattered,  without  order  or  system, 
in  among  the  sand.  On  closer  approach  he  could  see 
where  the  flag  waved  above  the  military  quarters,  and  the 
Rio  Grande,  where  it  wound  its  muddy  way  along.  The 
weary  horses  seemed  to  understand  that  the  end  of  the  long 
tedious  march  was  near;  their  riders  knew  what  they  owed 
to  themselves  and  their  position,  and  by  the  time  the  little 
half-nude  street  gamins  had  heralded  the  coming  of  a  sol- 
dier's train  to  the  rest  of  the  population,  it  was  quite  like  a 
band  of  conquering  heroes  that  Captain  Dun  wood's  escort 
arrived  at  the  adobe  buildings  representing  the  barracks  at 
Albuquerque. 

Amidst    much   clatter    and    stamping   of   hores's    feet, 


'  'Another  Juanita. ' '  5 

clinking1  of  arms  and  shouting  of  orders,  the  captain  and 
his  friend  clasped  hands  and  exchanged  cordial  greetings, 
while  the  salutation  of  the  junior,  an  exchange  from  another 
regiment,  and  who  had  lately  joined,  was  more  ceremonious 
and  official,  but  returned  not  less  heartily  on  the  captain's 
part. 

The  sun  had  set  long  before  the  din  and  confusion  com- 
mon to  such  occasions  had  quite  subsided;  indeed  it  was 
not  until  after  roll-call  and  retreat  that  the  troopers  seemed 
to  have  fitted  themselves  to  their  new  quarters,  and  not 
until  after  "taps"  that  the  captain  and  his  first  lieutenant 
were  allowed  the  luxury  of  a  conversation  strictly  tete  a  tete, 
Lieutenant  Howard  wearing  the  sash  as  officer  of  the  day 
being  necessarily  detained  outside,  by  his  duties.  Many  a 
peal  of  laughter  reached  his  ears,  however,  making  him  feel 
lonely  and  isolated,  though  he  knew  it  was  childish  to 
harbor  the  little  jealous  pang  that  tried  to  steal  into  his 
heart.  But  it  was  not  entirely  a  discussion  of  social  affairs, 
or  the  Colonel's  last  mot,  that  filled  up  the  hours  intervening 
between  taps  and  midnight;  for  by  the  time  the  sentinel 
called  out  this  hour  of  ghosts  and  goblins  on  his  short  and 
beaten  way,  Captain  Dunwood  had  made  himself  au  fait  in 
regard  to  everything  concerning  his  company  from  which 
he  had  been  separated  for  over  a  year,  as  well  as  the 
people,  so  far  as  necessary,  and  the  conditions  of  the  place 
where  he  was  to  command  post. 

After  guard-mount,  the  next  morning,  Lieutenant  Crane's 
horse  was  led  out  for  Captain  Dunwood,  as  he  had  decided 
to  visit  the  commissary  quarters  at  once,  partly  to  make  an 


6  ' ( Another  Jiianita. ' ' 

inspection  of  the  buildings  with  a  view  to  extending  them, 
partly  to  see  what  portion  of  its  contents  might  be  found 
available  for  his  own  larder.  The  orderly  who  held  the 
horse,  and  was  to  escort  the  captain,  seemed  to  have  some 
trouble  in  keeping  the  animal  quiet,  and  with  the  instinct  of 
a  cavalry  man,  Captain  Dunwood's  attention  was  immedi- 
ately fixed  upon  the  handsome  black,  whose  bridle  he  had 
taken  from  the  man's  hand.  Stepping  back  a  few  paces  for 
better  scrutiny,  he  soon  satisfied  himself  that  the  horse  was 
only  impatient  to  be  off,  and  turned  to  mount  the  animal. 

The  space  in  front  of  the  quarters  was  ample  enough  in 
dimension  to  be  called  "plaza"  by  the  natives,  parade 
ground  by  the  soldiers.  An  old  church,  built  of  adobe, 
but  Moorish  in  architecture,  straggled  into  the  street  that 
ran  past  the  square;  and  while  the  captain's  back  was 
turned,  two  figures  had  come  in  sight  on  this  street,  both 
females,  one  dressed  in  the  conventional  limp  black  skirts 
of  the  Mexican  woman,  with  a  coarse  rebozo  over  her  head, 
the  other,  the  mistress,  evidently,  arrayed  also  in  black, 
though  dress  and  rebozo  were  finer,  and  different  in  make. 
A  lithe,  slender  figure  this,  that  moved  along  with  the  half 
languid  grace,  which  only  the  Spanish  women  seem  to 
possess,  a  little  ahead  of  her  companion.  The  servant  had 
long  since  passed  the  last  milestone  of  youth,  while  the 
mistress  still  stood  upon  its  threshold.  From  the  folds  of 
the  rebozo  over  the  old  woman's  head,  but  one  eye  gleamed 
out  with  watchful  fire.  The  face  of  the  young  lady  was 
hardly  more  than  half  covered;  her  eyes,  lustrous,  soft  and 
black,  looked  timidly  and  a  little  startled  at  horse  and  man, 


1  'Another  Juanita. ' '  7 

and  the  straight  line  of  a  delicate  nose,  with  thin,  sensitive 
nostrils,  was  left  uncovered.  Only  one  moment,  however; 
the  next  a  narrow,  wax-white  hand  drew  the  screen  closer, 
and  head  and  face  were  both  averted,  leaving  nothing  but 
the  other  hand  exposed  to  view;  this  hand,  as  the  captain, 
recovering  himself  with  an  effort,  and  quickly  mounting  his 
horse,  could  not  but  observe,  held  a  little,  shabby  prayer- 
book,  and  wrapped  around  it  a  rosary,  composed  of  some 
blood-red  bead  or  berry,  such  as  natives  of  tropic  countries 
love  to  shape  into  strands  for  this  pious  purpose. 

The  women  passed  to  the  right  of  him,  while  Captain 
Dun  wood  proceeded  slowly  on  his  way  by  the  old  church, 
from  which  they  had  probably  emerged.  Not  that  he 
allowed  himself  to  speculate  upon  anything  of  the  kind; 
what  concern  of  his  was  it  where  two  women  had  come 
from  or  where  they  were  going  to  ?  He  did  not  even  cast  a 
look  at  the  church,  as  he  would  have  done,  probably,  under 
other  circumstances;  but  looked  straight  ahead,  so  as  not 
to  miss  the  street  he  was  to  turn  into,  in  order  to  reach  the 
commissary.  Street,  he  said  to  himself,  was  too  dignified  a 
name  to  bestow  upon  these  mud-baked  thoroughfares, 
running  this  way  and  that,  accommodating  themselves  to 
the  mud-baked  houses,  that  stood  wherever  their  builder 
had  seen  fit  to  put  them.  The  window  in  these  buildings 
was  merely  a  square  hole  let  into  the  mud  wall,  high  up  in 
some  corner;  but  wherever  there  was  a  door,  it  stood 
hospitably  open,  and  if  there  were  inmates,  they  were  sure 
to  come  out  and  give  pleasant  greeting  to  the  stranger. 

Captain  Dunwood's  severely  classic  features  softened,  and 


8  " Another  Juanita" 

a  little  later  on,  when  he  came  to  a  more  pretentious  place, 
where  an  adobe  wall  enclosed  a  garden  with  peach  trees 
and  grape  vines,  to  say  nothing  of  the  broad,  cool-looking, 
though  rough-built  casa,  he  said  to  himself:  "It  is  not  so 
bad,  after  all;  a  polite,  good-natured  people,  and  among 
the  better  classes  no  doubt  there  is  refinement,  and  probably 
great  comfort  in  the  homes  of  the  wealthy.  I  wonder — " 
he  checked  himself,  "but  blushing  like  a  girl,  at  his  own 
hypocrisy,  he  continued,  "  yes,  I  wonder  what  those  blood- 
red  berries  were,  in  the  rosary." 

At  noon  they  had  a  cheerful  dinner  together,  the  three 
officers,  and  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon  Lieutenant 
Howard  declared  to  his  friend  Crane  that  he  too  liked  Cap- 
tain Dunwood  in  spite  of  his  perfections. 

Toward  sunset,  just  before  retreat  was  sounded,  and 
while  Lieutenant  Crane  was  re-adjusting  his  sash,  as  officer 
of  the  day,  there  was  borne  on  the  light  breeze  that 
wandered  in  at  the  window,  a  sound  that  startled  Captain 
Dunwood  more  thoroughly  than  the  firing  of  cannon  would 
have  done;  the  tones  of  a  woman's  voice  in  song,  soft, 
sweet  and  expressive,  but  without  great  depth  or  power. 

"What  is  that?"  he  asked  turning  to  his  friend,  sur- 
prised and  paralyzed  at  the  perfect  equanimity  with  which 
his  second  in  command  continued  to  spread  the  sash  across 
his  breast. 

"  That?"  he  asked  in  return.  "Ah,  that  is  Juanita,"  and 
as  the  orderly  appeared  at  the  door  just  then,  he  called  out 
some  direction  to  him,  following  the  man  immediately  so 
that  the  captain  was  left  alone  in  the  room, 


'  'Another  Juanita. ' '  9 

"  Juanita,"  he  repeated,  "  as  if  everybody  didn't  know 
'Juanita'  as  well  as  they  know  their  A  B  G's;  but — ' 
and  again  a  blush  came  to  his  face  as  his  thoughts  ran 
back  swiftly  to  that  morning's  meeting,  and  he  found  him- 
self wondering  in  which  direction  the  two  forms  had  van- 
ished after  passing  him.  All  this  time  the  tones  of  the 
voice  still  came  floating  in,  nearer  now,  and  more  distinct 
since  he  was  entirely  alone;  both  verses  of  the  old  Spanish 
love-song  were  sung,  though  he  could  not  catch  the  words 
at  this  distance.  It  was  not  till  the  last  note  had  died  away 
that  he  became  aware  how  absorbed  he  had  been;  he  roused 
himself  with  a  guilty  start  when  he  found  that  the  tramp  of 
the  soldiers,  the  loud  voice  of  the  sergeant,  even  the  call  of 
the  bugle  on  the  outside,  had  been  completely  unheard  by 
him. 

Not  another  word  of  information  was  volunteered  by  his 
lieutenant,  and  no  siren's  voice  could  have  wooed  the 
captain  into  compromising  his  dignity  by  asking  further 
questions.  Next  morning,  at  guard-mount,  he  observed 
for  the  first  time,  a  heavy  adobe  wall,  running  around  what 
seemed  a  fair-sized  garden,  with  the  house  standing  close  to 
the  wall  next  the  quarters.  Only  a  narrow  street,  or  lane, 
divided  it  from  the  barracks,  and  high  up  in  the  corner  of 
the  house  facing  the  lane,  was  one  of  the  small,  square 
windows  he  had  noticed  everywhere,  latticed  here,  and 
giving  a  decidedly  Spanish  look  to  the  whole  place. 

During  the  day,  it  must  be  confessed,  the  captain's  eyes 
traveled  more  than  once  in  the  direction  of  the  lattice,  and 
he  listened,  involuntarily,  for  a  sound  of  the  voice  he  had 


i  o  '  'Another  Juanita. ' ' 

heard  on  the  previous  evening.  But  the  day  passed, 
somewhat  tediously;  the  fatigue  of  the  long  march  was  still 
upon  him,  he  thought,  making  him  distrait  and  averse  to 
earnest  application.  To-morrow  that  should  be  remedied, 
he  resolved;  he  would  take  up  the  duties  for  which  he  had 
left  the  gay  life  at  the  Capitol,  and  nothing  should  make 
him  swerve  from  his  self-chosen  path.  To  be  sure  it  did 
not  run  among  flowers  nor  along  green  fields;  it  had  turned 
into  a  dry  and  barren  land,  without  freshness  or  beauty, 
unless  it  were  such  stray  bits  as  he  raised  his  eyes  to  now, 
where  he  stood  in  front  of  the  quarters  and  looked  afar  oft 
to  the  mountain-range  that  bordered  the  horizon.  The  sun 
was  just  setting,  and  as  it  bathed  the  lower  hills  in  pale  rose 
and  dim  yellow,  the  higher  and  more  distant  peaks  and 
mountain-tops  were  transformed  into  domes  and  spires, 
flushed  with  deep  red  and  royal  purple,  save  where  a  cool 
silver  hue  marked  some  pinnacle  more  lofty  than  the  rest. 

With  rapt  attention  he  watched  the  glorious  sight,  his 
deep,  earnest  eyes  full  of  a  warm  light,  though  his  form 
stood  erect  and  unbending,  as  if  ready  to  give  the  word  of 
command.  Suddenly,  and  almost  beside  him,  he  fancied, 
the  notes  of  the  song  he  had  heard  the  day  before  rang  out 
again,  coming,  as  he  could  not  doubt,  through  the  lattice- 
work of  the  window  high  up  in  the  casa  on  the  other  side  of 
the  lane.  Not  a  soul  was  in  sight,  though  within  the 
barracks  he  heard  the  sounds  of  preparation  for  roll-call 
and  retreat,  and  that,  perhaps,  was  the  reason  why  neither 
Crane  nor  Howard  was  here  to  listen  to  the  voice  that  came 
so  clear  and  sweet  from  the  throat  of  the  singer. 


'  ^  Another  Juanita. "  1 1 

But  the  next  moment,  with  bent  brows  and  an  impatient 
pull  at  his  moustache,  Captain  Dunwood  turned  away  and 
entered  his  quarters.  What  had  he  to  do  with  golden 
sunsets,  or  the  romance  to  be  woven  out  of  a  Spanish  love- 
song,  and  the  woman  who  sang  it  behind  her  latticed 
window  ? 

On  the  Sunday  following,  before  inspection  and  dress- 
parade,  the  captain  and  his  two  subalterns,  one  acting  as 
adjutant,  were  assembled  in  front  of  the  quarters,  waiting 
for  the  Padre  to  dismiss  his  scant  congregation  from  the 
church,  so  that  the  clash  of  arms  and  the  blare  of  trumpets 
might  not  interfere  with  the  devotions  of  the  little  flock. 
Soon  they  emerged,  passing,  for  the  most  part,  down  the 
street  in  an  opposite  direction  to  the  open  square;  only 
three  figures  turned  and  came  toward  where  our  friends 
stood.  It  was  impossible  for  Captain  Dunwood  to  change 
his  position,  as  the  good  Padre  Carmelo  was  evidently  bent 
on  saluting  him,  and  while  he  waited  for  the  priest  to 
approach,  his  eyes  scanned  the  other  two  figures.  To-day 
the  younger,  though  again  clad  in  the  sombre  black  which 
the  Spanish  women  so  love,  was  not  shrouded  in  the 
rebozo;  a  lace  mantilla,  while  it  draped  the  form,  was 
thrown  over  the  head  so  as  to  cover  only  the  heavy  braids 
of  hair,  leaving  the  face  and  a  part  of  the  slender  throat 
entirely  uncovered.  The  same  shabby  little  prayer-book 
was  in  her  hands,  and  the  rosary  of  blood-red  beads;  but 
the  slim  hands  were  gloved  to-day,  and  their  waxen  white- 
ness hidden.  The  old  woman  behind  her  was  dressed  as 
usual,  but  dress  and  rebozo  were  of  a  more  glossy  black. 


1 2  ' ' Another  Juanita. ' ' 

Only  a  moment  his  eyes  had  rested  on  her,  our  friend 
thought;  he  had  had  time,  however,  to  see  that  her  throat 
was  white  as  any  swan's,  and  that  her  lips  were  not  as 
bright  red  as  some  would  suppose  a  Spanish  girl's  lips 
ought  to  be.  But  the  Padre  was  already  shaking  him  by 
the  hand,  and  in  his  stiff  and  not  always  correct  English, 
was  expressing  his  acknowledgements  of  Captain  Dun- 
wood's  kindness,  branching  out  into  profuse  praise  of  the 
younger  officers  and  the  soldiery  in  general.  These  two 
younger  officers,  in  the  meantime,  were  exchanging  brief 
but  significant  remarks  and  observations. 

"  She  never  looked  like  that  at  either  of  us,"  said  the 
adjutant,  and  his  friend  Crane  seemed  to  know  at  once 
whom  the  young  man  meant,  for  he  replied: 

"  Poor  thing;  but  she  might  as  well  strangle  her  young 
affections.  Dunwood  is  not  given  to  flirtation,  and  would  in 
cold  blood  order  any  man  to  be  shot,  if  he  could,  who 
cast  his  eye  on  a  female  whom  he  could  not,  or  would  not, 
make  his  wife.  Somerville,  of  the  1 2th,  wrote  and  said 
that  the  women  in  Washington  were  too  much  for  our 
brave  captain;  he  did  not  capitulate,  he  simply  ran. 

"He  is  a  handsome  fellow,"  the  other  admitted,  "though 
rather  stern-looking  for  a  lady-killer." 

"  Does  not  the  greatest  glory  attach  to  the  taking  of  the 
most  forbidding  fortress  ?  However,  Herbert  can  be  as  gay  as 
a  lark,  and  we  all  know  how  good  and  gentle  he  is  at  heart. ' ' 

"Indeed  he  is,"  was  the  younger  lieutenant's  ready 
acknowledgement,  though  his  face  blushed  at  the  remem- 
brance of  the  little  short-comings,  the  kindly  setting  aright 


' ' '"Another  Juanita. "  13 

of  which  had  made  him  so  enthusiastic  in  his  captain's 
praise.  "A  very  'Knight  Bayard.'  When  I  had  first  left 
the  Academy  and  was  in  the  other  regiment,  the  fellows 
used  to  say  of  him  that  he  would  kill  his  enemy  in  the  field 
without  compunction,  but  would  die  of  remorse  if  he 
thought  he  had  taken  unfair  advantage  of  him,  or  hurt  his 
feelings  before  he  cut  him  down." 

At  this  point  the  interview  between  Father  Carmelo  and 
the  post-commander  came  to  an  end,  as  the  ceremonious 
salutations  from  both  sides  showed,  and  the  tramp  of  horses 
and  shouts  of  sergeant  and  corporal  put  every  thought,  not 
connected  with  the  service,  to  flight. 

A  soldier's  duties  do  not  relax  on  Sunday,  and  a  com- 
mander must  be  ever  at  his  post,  so  that  he  could  not  have 
escaped  the  tones  of  the  voice  that  sang  "  Juanita"  in  the 
old  casa  next  to  him,  if  he  had  wanted  to.  But  he  did  not 
want  to;  he  listened  and  wondered;  wondered  how  the  low, 
sweet  voice  that  seemed  so  well  fitted  to  sing 

"  Soft  o'er  the  fountain, 

Lingering  falls  the  southern  moon  " 

could  rise  to  the  force  and  the  passion  of  the  love-glowing 

refrain : 

"  Nita!  Juanita! 

Ask  thy  soul  if  we  should  part." 

It  was  the  first  time,  perhaps,  that  he  had  listened  with  a 
critic's  ear,  and  he  could  hear  no  change  of  expression  in 
the  singer's  voice;  throughout  the  song  it  was  pleading, 
entreating,  beseeching,  but  there  was  neither  longing  nor 


14  " Another  Juanita" 

passion  in  the  tones.  If  he  had  examined  the  inmost 
recesses  of  his  heart  he  would  have  discovered  that  the  face 
of  the  girl  whom  he  took  to  be  the  singer,  had  been  present 
with  him  all  day;  the  face  was  so  pure,  the  eyes  so  soft, 
and  the  lips,  the  lips  were  not  the  color  that  always  accom- 
pany black  eyes  and  ebony  hair.  They  were  full  and 
perfect  in  mold,  but  the  color  was  pale  red,  much  better 
suited  to  the  expression  of  her  eyes,  he  thought,  than  to 
the  words  of  that  song  she  was  always  singing.  He  arose 
and  left  his  room  before  the  clang  of  the  bugle  sounding 
roll-call  could  break  into  the  last  faint  strains  that  came 
from  the  latticed  window. 

In  the  course  of  the  week  Captain  Dunwood  had  occasion 
to  visit  what  was  termed  "the  pasture,"  a  piece  of  land 
close  by  the  river,  where  a  number  of  cottonwood  trees 
flourished,  and  underneath,  in  clumps,  grew  coarse,  wiry 
grass  of  some  kind.  The  Mexicans  grandly  called  it  a 
bosque,  for  in  their  eyes,  in  this  tree-barren  land,  it  repre- 
sented quite  a  little  forest,  but  had  been  made  use  of,  by 
that  cynical  individual,  the  teniente  Crane,  to  turn  any  horse 
into,  that  had  in  any  manner  become  temporarily  unfit  for 
service.  The  captain  was  on  foot,  and  as  the  nearest  way 
led  directly  past  the  front  of  the  garden-wall  enclosing  the 
casa  with  the  latticed  window,  he  felt  no  hesitation  in  look- 
ing in  at  the  open  gate,  and,  as  the  door  was  just  opposite, 
and  it  open  too,  he  could  see  through  the  hall  of  the  house, 
and  into  the  little  court-yard  it  enclosed.  The  sun  lay 
warm  and  golden  on  the  flags  with  which  it  was  paved, 
and  drew  heavy  perfume  from  the  tuberoses  and  white 


'  'Another  Juanita. "  15 

Annunciation  lilies  with  which  the  round  beds,  raised  several 
feet  above  the  ground  and  neatly  walled  in  with  white  slabs, 
were  filled.  A  Castilian  rose  covered  one  side  of  the 
house,  the  foliage  fresh  and  green,  a  joy  to  the  eye,  huge 
bunches  of  its  sweet-smelling  blossoms  making  the  picture 
perfect  in  its  way.  Outside  there  was  not  a  blade  of  grass, 
not  the  tiniest  spot  of  green  to  be  seen,  but  the  gurgle  and 
drips  of  water  inside  the  garden,  explained  the  secret  of  the 
wealth  of  bloom;  it  drew  its  supply  from  the  chief  acequia 
leading  from  the  Rio  Grande,  and  the  owner  of  the 
casa  unquestionably  belonged  to  the .  gente  finos  of 
Albuquerque. 

Captain  Dunwood's  horse  had  been  turned  into  the  pasture 
after  the  march  out  from  Fort  Riley,  and  the  faithful  animal 
came  running  up  with  a  glad  whinny,  when  he  heard  the 
whistle  with  which  his  master  had  been  wont  to  call  him. 
He  was  so  overjoyed  to  see  his  master  again,  that  he  seemed 
broken-hearted  when  the  captain  turned  to  go  and  leave  him 
behind,  and  determining  to  send  his  orderly  for  him  at  once, 
Captain  Dunwood  retraced  his  steps  quickly,  to  have  the  horse 
brought  in  before  stable-call.  As  he  neared  his  neighbor's 
house  he  became  aware  of  a  sound  of  chatting  and  laughter, 
and  looking  up  saw~a  number  of  young  ladies  approaching, 
a  sight  rare  enough  in  the  dreary  streets  of  Alberquerque. 
It  was  plain  that  they  were  coming  toward  the  house,  and 
that  he  would  meet  them  almost  in  front  of  the  gate;  but 
he  could  neither  turn,  nor  accelerate  his  already  swift  pace, 
so  he  raised  his  hat  "to  the  whole  bevy,  among  whom  he 
recognized  two  of  the  daughters  of  the  renowned  Mexican, 


1 6  '  'Another  Juanita. ' ' 

General  Armigo,  of  Santa  Ana  fame,  and,  as  centre  of  the 
group,  the  face  and  form  of  her  who  had  been  present  to  his 
thoughts  more  than  he  liked  to  own  to  himself.  She  alone 
was  not  laughing;  indeed  there  was  something  inexpressibly 
sad  in  the  eyes  that  were  raised  to  his,  though  she  did  not 
speak  when  the  rest  gayly  returned  the  Captain's  salute. 
How  delicate,  nay,  fragile,  she  looked  beside  some  of  the 
women,  whose  rich,  dark  beauty  did  full  justice  to  the  de- 
scriptions one  reads  of  the  star-eyed  daughters  of  the  Spanish 
race.  One  in  particular,  who  was  supporting  his  young 
neighbor,  in  jest,  apparently,  though  the  girl  looked  as  if 
she  might  well  need  her  support.  He  felt  an  impulse  to 
fling  off  the  arm  that  encircled  the  girl's  slender  waist,  as  if 
it  were  the  grossest  contamination  to  have  it  there. 

"  That  one  might  sing  'Juanita,'  and  I  would  never 
wonder  at  it;  but  the  little  one  with  the  pale-red  lips  and  the 
flower-eyes — No,"  he  decided,  "she  ought  not  to  sing  it." 
And  he  felt  fairly  indignant,  when,  just  as  the  sun,  with  its 
last  rays,  clothed  the  distant  mountains  with  a  beauty  evan- 
escent as  it  was  glorious,  her  voice  floated  out  again,  sweet 
and  low  at  first,  but  growing  almost  piercing  in  its  tones — 
beseeching,  entreating,  pleading.  It  irritated  him  so  that 
he  left  his  room  to  once  more  fondle  his  horse,  who  stamped 
impatiently  for  him  to  come. 

One  morning  an  unusual  excitement  stirred  the  pulses  of 
the  sleepy  old  town;  commadres  and  compadres  flitted  from 
their  own  casa  to  their  neighbors',  and  a  sound  of  loud 
talking  was  heard  on  the  street;  the  Indians  had  attacked  a 
band  of  sheep-herders  on  the  river-bank,  some  fifteen  or 


1 ' Another  Juanita. "  17 

twenty  miles  below,  had  driven  off  the  sheep  and  killed  one 
or  two  of  the  herders.  This,  however,  was  so  common  an 
occurrence,  that  the  Mexicans  would  hardly  have  troubled 
themselves  or  the  post- commander  about  the  matter,  but 
the  sheep-herders  who  came  in,  reported  an  unusually  large 
band  of  savages,  and  that  they  had  taken  the  direction 
toward  the  camp  of  Senor  Francisco  Delagado,  who,  with 
his  herders,  was  engaged  in  branding  horses  and  cattle,  ol 
which  he  had  the  greater  number  by  far,  of  any  man  in  the 
surrounding  country.  It  was  not  long  till  Lieutenant  Crane 
appeared  before  his  commander,  in  official  attitude,  to  report 
that  some  of  the  citizens  had  applied  for  military  escort  and 
protection  to  reach  the  camp  of  Senor  Delagado,  if  pos- 
sible, before  the  Indians  could  commit  further  depredations. 
The  report  ended,  the  subaltern  officer  quickly  lapsed  into 
friend  and  class-mate  of  by-gone  years. 

"  Let  me  go,  Bert,"  he  pleaded  excitedly.  "  You  know 
who  Don  Francisco  is,  don't  you?  " 

"No,"  replied  his  captain,  "and  it  makes  no  difference; 
he  must  have  succor  and  protection.  But,  I  say,  Fred,  let 
young  Howard  go — give  him  a  chance  to  win  his  spurs. 
And  by  Jove!  the  youngster  shall  have  my  horse,  his  own 
is  under  the  weather." 

And  when  ' '  boots  and  saddles ' '  was  sounded,  there  was 
no  prouder  mortal  on  earth  than  Lieutenant  Charles  How- 
ard, Co.  N.,  1 05th  U.  S.  Cavalry.  Twenty  men  was  quite 
a  command,  and  the  young  officer  felt  that  he  would  settle 
the  vexed  question  of  "  what  to  do  with  the  Indians,"  in 
very  short  order,  before  he  got  back.  His  captain  made 


i  £  '  'Another  Juanita. ' ' 

preparations,  however,  to  send  re-inforcements  if  it  became 
necessary. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  just  before  stable  call,  a  courier 
arrived  at  headquarters  to  report  Senor  Delagado  mur- 
dered by  the  Indians,  of  whom  two  bands  were  on  the  war- 
path, slaughtering  sheep  and  cattle,  driving  off  horses,  and 
killing  and  scalping  those  who  tried  to  protect  their  herds. 
The  body  of  the  murdered  man  was  being  brought  home  by 
the  herders  who  had  escaped,  but  as  they  had  saved  only  a 
few  of  the  little  burros,  their  progress  was  slow,  having  to  shift 
the  corpse  from  the  back  of  one  burro  to  that  of  another,  as 
the  animals  tired  down. 

At  the  same  time  a  number  of  Mexicans  living  in  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town,  came  trooping  in,  fearing  that  the  Indians 
would  attack  their  forlorn  little  ranches  and  besiege  the 
town,  wherefore  they  implored  the  teniente  and  his  com- 
mandante  not  to  send  any  more  of  the  troops  away,  but 
issue  rations  to  them,  the  Mexicans,  at  once,  as  they  had  no 
doubt  the  Appaches  had  stolen  the  provisions  left  on  their 
ranches  already,  and  that  it  had  consequently  become  the 
duty  of  the  government  to  feed  them. 

"The  blind  faith  these  people  have  in  their  Uncle  Sam's 
willingness  and  ability  to  take  care  of  them,  would  be 
touching,  if  it  were  not  so  amusing,"  remarked  Lieutenant 
Crane  with  his  most  synical  smile,  which  died  away,  how- 
ever, to  give  place  to  an  expression  of  real  concern,  as  he 
saw,  in  the  fading  light,  the  figure  of  the  old  woman  from 
the  neighboring  casa,  coming  around  the  corner  and 
approaching  them,  making  her  way  fearlessly  through 


'  ^ Another  Juanita. "  ig 

horses  and  men,  turning  neither  right  nor  left  till  she  reached 
the  captain  and  stepped  in  front  of  him.  This  gentleman 
had  noticed  her  approach  but  paid  no  heed,  as  he  was 
anxious  to  have  Lieutenant  Crane  and  his  men  on  the  march 
before  nightfall,  and  in  the  confusion  hardly  caught  the 
meaning  of  what  she  said.  Only  one  word  had  struck  his 
ear,  but  being  by  no  means  perfect  in  the  language  of  the 
country  he  turned  impatiently  to  his  lieutenant. 

"  What  does  she  want?  Tell  her  not  to  bother  us  now; 
let  her  come  some  other  time." 

"  Maria  comes  with  a  message  from  her  young  mistress. 
The  Senorita  Juanita  wishes,  nay  begs,  to  see  you  at  her 
casa  some  time  this  evening,  as  soon  as  you  can  make  it 
possible. ' ' 

' '  Who  ?  ' '  asked  the  captain  in  bewilderment  so  deep 
that  his  friend  could  scarce  refrain  from  laughing. 

"Juanita  Delagado,"  he  repeated  tersely.  "Did  you 
not  know  it  was  her  father  whom  the  Indians  killed?  " 

' '  I  knew  nothing, ' '  and  he  leaned  against  the  horse  of 
his  lieutenant,  so  white  in  the  face  that  this  individual 
compassionately  suppressed  the  long,  low  whistle,  which,  as 
a  cynic,  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  give  vent  to. 

"But  Juanita,  she  says,"  continued  Lieutenant  Crane, 
interpreting,  "knows  nothing  of  her  father's  death  as  yet, 
and  Maria  says  that  you  must  not  allude  to  it  when  you  call 
on  her.  She  is  frail  and  delicate,  and  they  want  time  to 
prepare  her  for  the  shock." 

"  I  can't  go,  Crane;  not  to-night.  Tell  her  so,"  said  the 
captain  desperately;  then  casting  his  eyes  around,  "how 


2o  ' ' Another  Juanita. ' ' 

can  I  ?     Don't  you  see,  it  will  be  my  duty  to  stay  right 
here,  after  you  go?  " 

Lieutenant  Crane's  good-nature  seemed  suddenly  to 
leave  him,  and  he  showed  decided  symptoms  of  mutiny, 
as  he  turned  to  go,  muttering  something  about  ' '  martinet- 
ism  "  under  his  breath. 

"No,  no,  Fred,  don't  say  that!"  the  great,  tall  man 
called  after  him  in  piteous  tones,  and  his  friend  Crane  never 
forgot  the  look  of  pain  on  his  face,  and  never  forgave  him- 
self for  having  brought  it  there. 

He  dismissed  the  old  woman  with  the  assurance  that  if 
Captain  Dunwood  could  not  come  that  night,  he  would  do 
himself  the  honor  to  call  upon  the  senorita  at  the  earliest 
possible  moment  the  next  morning,  and  the  old  servant, 
mourning  bitterly  the  loss  of  her  master,  expressed  her 
gratification  at  seeing  all  these  soldiers  going  forth  to  punish 
his  murderers. 

During  the  night  Lieutenant  Crane  with  his  men  re- 
turned, having  met  old  Arrogo,  the  guide,  whom  Lieuten- 
ant Howard  had  sent  as  avant-courier  with  the  message  that 
the  Indians  had  fled  to  the  mountains,  after  a  short,  sharp 
encounter,  which  had  cost  one  horse  and  the  wounding  of 
two  men.  As  these  could  be  transported  but  slowly  on  im- 
provised litters  swung  between  two  horses,  the  herders 
bearing  the  body  of  Senor  Delagado,  had  attached  them- 
selves to  the  command,  by  the  teniente  Howard's  permis- 
sion, and  the  whole  train  would  arrive  probably  sometime 
before  noon  on  the  morrow. 

In    the   morning,    directly   after  guard-mount,    Captain 


'  Another  Juanita. "  2  i 

Dunwood  stood  irresolute  in  front  of  the  quarters,  with 
brows  contracted,  an  anxious,  troubled  look  on  his  face, 
not  aware  that  the  look  was  reflected  on  another  face, 
brought  close  to  the  window,  inside  the  quarters.  For 
once  Lieutenant  Crane  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  a  true 
cynic  knows  neither  pity  nor  feels  concern,  for  his  eyes 
were  full  of  a  compassion  for  which  there  was  no  apparent 
cause,  as  he  watched  the  tall  figure,  standing  idly  and  with 
an  air  of  indecision  entirely  foreign  to  his  usually  quiet, 
determined  manner. 

At  this  moment  old  Maria  came  in  sight,  evidently  on 
her  way  from  the  Delagado  casa  to  the  church,  and  Dun- 
wood  at  once  moved  forward,  so  that  he  intercepted  the 
woman  half  way  between  the  two  places.  The  little  plaza 
was  deserted,  as  were  the  streets  and  winding  ways  that  ran 
into  it,  but  Maria  took  no  notice  of  the  captain's  approach; 
when  he  stood  before  her  she  stopped,  and  after  some  little 
difficulty  he  made  her  understand  his  wish  to  be  led  to  her 
mistress,  the  Senorita  Juanita.  The  old  woman  looked  up 
at  him  with  dim,  lustreless  eye. 

"You  wish  to  see  my  mistress?"  she  asked  in  low, 
hushed  tones;  "Come,  then,  with  me,  and  you  shall  see 
Juanita,"  and  she  continued  on  her  way  to  the  church, 
beckoning  him  on  when  she  noticed  him  hesitate  and  stop. 
Seeing  her  motion  to  him,  he  followed  Jher,  as  in  a  dream, 
till  they  reached  the  narrow  little  vestibule  of  the  church, 
the  inside  of  which  he  saw  to-day  for  the  first  time.  Only 
once,  passing  just  as  the  congregation  was  dismissed,  and 
both  inside  doors  open,  he  had  observed,  half  unconsciously, 


4  2  '  'Another  juanita, ' ' 

that  as  in  all  the  old  Catholic  churches  in  the  Territory, 
there  were  neither  seats  nor  benches  through  the  entire 
body  of  the  church,  the  pious  worshippers  kneeling  during 
mass  and  vespers. 

As  the  door  swung  back,  the  old  servant,  with  a  deft 
motion  of  the  hand,  threw  a  thin  spray  of  the  blessed  water 
on  the  heretic  whom  she  was  admitting  into  the  sanctuary, 
ere  she  took  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  toward  the 
altar.  -  Tall  tapers  were  burning  here,  shedding  a  sub- 
dued light  on  the  emblems  of  faith  adorning  it;  but,  strange 
to  say  there  were  no  flowers  there,  and  the  balustrade, 
running  around  the  raised  dais,  was  shrouded  in  black. 
When  he  grew  accustomed  to  the  half  darkness,  after  the 
glaring  light  outside,  he  saw  that  the  church  was  empty; 
no  worshippers  were  there,  only  he  and  the  old  servant, 
and  directly  in  front  of  them,  at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  a 
bier,  upon  which  lay  stretched  a  figure  that  might  have  been 
molded  in  wax,  or  cut  out  of  marble.  Snowy  draperies 
enshrouded  it,  and  a  filmy,  spotless  veil  was  thrown  over 
glossy  braids  of  darkest  hair.  The  face,  so  fair  and  sweet 
to  look  upon,  was  still  and  cold;  and  the  slim  white  hands, 
crossed  peacefully  above  the  breast,  were  made  to  hold  a 
rosary  of  blood-red  beads. 

"Juanita!"  Had  he  shrieked  it  aloud  in  his  agony ?  He 
never  knew,  but  the  old  woman  drew  him  down  beside  her, 
and  after  making  the  sign  of  the  cross  above  his  head,  bent 
weeping,  over  her  rosary,  murmuring  prayers  which  his 
soul  echoed,  though  he  neither  understood  the  words  nor 
knew  the  formula. 


' { Another  juanita. "  23 

"Juanita — "  he  could  think  nothing  but  the  one  word, 
which  he  repeated  to  himself  softly,  over  and  over  again. 
Then  suddenly  a  sharp  pain  clutched  his  heart,  and  he  felt 
the  perspiration  starting  on  his  forehead,  and  when  he 
passed  his  hand  across  to  wipe  the  damp  away,  it  seemed  to 
him  they  must  be  drops  of  blood,  and  look  like  the  beads  of 
the  rosary  in  the  dead  girl's  hands. 

He  never  knew  how  long  he  had  been  there,  whether 
hours  or  minutes,  when  he  heard  a  soft  footstep  behind  him 
and  felt  a  hand  laid  gently  on  his  shoulder. 

"Come  with  me,  my  son."  It  was  the  old  priest  who 
stooped  over  him  and  helped  him 'to  rise,  picking  up  his  hat 
and  gently  leading  him  out  of  the  church.  Not  through  the 
door  by  which  he  had  entered,  but  through  a  side  door, 
which  led  to  the  father's  habitation  close  by. 

"Sit  here,  my  son,"  he  said  as  he  pointed  to  a  home- 
made settee  of  brightest  calico  stuffed  with  lambs'  wool. 
He  stepped  into  an  adjoining  room  and  brought  a  small 
glass  of  wine,  with  which  he  insisted  his  guest  must  at 
least  moisten  his  lips.  Then  he  sat  beside  him  silently, 
with  bowed  head,  grief  in  every  line  of  his  kindly,  wrinkled 
face. 

At  last  Captain  Dunwood  turned  to  him.  "When — "  he 
began  to  question,  in  a  voice  that  struck  him  as  not  being 
his  own. 

"  When  did  Juanita  die  ?  "  Father  Carmelo  finished  the 
question  for  him.  "Ah!  poor  child — poor  child;  she  never 
be  very  strong,  and  one  time,  American  doctor,  post-sur- 
geon, he  say  '  the  senorita  have  trouble  with  her  heart'' 


24  '  'Another  Juanita. ' ' 

So  when  Indians  kill  her  father,  I  say  to  Maria:  not  tell  her 
yet;  let  me  prepare  her;  she  good  child — oh!  so  good — I 
tell  her  by  and  by,  to-morrow,  is  to  say,  to-day.  She  had 
say  to  me,  when  she  hear  how  Indians  attack  sheep-herders, 
she  say:  '  I  send  for  the  commandante ;  on  my  knees  I  will 
beg  him  to  go  to  my  father  and  bring  him  home.'  But  last 
night  one  foolish  old  woman  she  run  in  to  see  her,  and  she 
cry  'oh!  you  poor  child — Indians  kill  your  father  dead; 
shoot  him  with  guns,  shoot  him  with  arrows,  till  he  die.' 
Maria,  she  hear  one  loud  scream,  she  run  in  to  room,  she 
see  Juanita  go  so — "  The  old  man  clasped  both  hands  over 
his  heart,  and  swayed  his  body  to  and  fro.  ' '  Maria  throw 
her  arms  around  her,  and  Juanita  lay  her  head  against  her 
shoulder,  so — ' '  dropping  his  head  to  one  side,  ' '  and  when 
Maria  look  in  her  face,  she  is  dead." 

After  a  moment's  silence  the  priest,  with  tears  in  his  eyes 
went  on,  "  Good  child,  good  daughter;  when  her  father  go 
away,  about  a  month  ago,  to  hold  rodeo,  on  the  river-bank, 
on  his  rancho,  she  cry  and  cry,  'perhaps  I  never  see  my 
father  again,'  and  I  say:  '  be  a  good  girl,  pray  to  the  saints, 
and  ask  Holy  Virgin  to  protect  him,  and  he  come  soon 
again!'  Next  day  she  say  'Padre  mio,  I  will  sing  every 
day,  when  the  sun  go  down,  one  Ave  Maria,  till  my  father 
come  home  again,  and  I  know  Holy  Virgin  will  protect 
him.'  But  the  good  God  has  taken  her  father; — was  better 
so,  perhaps;  we  must  not  complain — " 

Captain  Dunwood  sat  rigid,  and  looked  into  the  father's 
face  with  wild,  burning  eyes. 

' '  What, ' '   he  asked  roughly,  in  a  hoarse,  broken  voice, 


' l Another  Juanita. "  25 

''What  did  she  sing  every  evening,  when  the  sun   went 
down  ?  " 

"An  Ave  Maria;  oh!  it  is  beautiful,  this  Ave,"  the  old 
priest  continued.  "It  is  here,  in  this  prayer-book  of 
Juanita's,"  and  he  took  the  little  worn  book  from  his 
writing-table;  "  I  will  find  it  directly."  But  his  eyes  were 
not  so  ready  to  find  things  as  they  had  been  twenty  years 
ago,  and  while  turning  over  the  leaves,  he  spoke  again: 
"  The  good  sisters  in  Santa  Fe  they  teach  her  to  sing;  they 
all  love  her  so — "  his  voice  broke.  "Juanita's  mother," 
he  went  on,  "the  Donna  Inez,  she  die  when  Juanita  was 
small  little  child,  and  old  Maria  she  take  care  of  her,  always; 
and  her  heart  is  broken  now.  Here,  my  son,  you  read  the 
Latin?  Here  it  is,  she  sing  it  every  day.  You  never  hear 
her  sing  ?  Oh!  she  sing  beautiful." 

"Father — "  the  captain  spoke  without  looking  at  the 
open  page  of  the  book,  "Father,  do  you  know  the  air,  the 
song  of  'Juanita  '  ?  " 

"  Song  ?  Of  Juanita  ?  "  the  Padre  asked,  incredulously. 
"  No,  no  one  make  song  of  Juanita.  Why  make  song  of 
our  Juanita  ?  Must  be  another  Juanita." 

His  visitor  arose.  "Father,"  he  pleaded,  "give  me  the 
book,"  and  without  a  word  the  litte  volume  was  laid  in  the 
young  man's  outstretched  palm;  then,  as  he  bowed  low  his 
head,  the  priest  raised  his  hand  in  benediction,  and  Captain 
Dunwood  left  the  roof  that  had  sheltered  him  in  his  hour  of 
bitterest  pain. 

Outside  he  staggered  like  one  who  had  received  a  mortal 
blow;  his  face  was  ashen  and  his  eyes  sunken,  as  though 


26  "Another  Juanila.^ 

years  ol  suffering  had  passed  over  him.  His  way  to  the 
quarters  lay  past  the  church  door;  should  he  enter  to  see 
once  more  the  face  of  the  dead  girl  whom  he  would  not  love 
in  life?  No;  no  need  of  going  in;  what  he  should  see  there 
was  mirrored  on  his  heart  so  faithfully  that  a  lifetime  would 
not  suffice  to  efface  the  picture.  But  his  punishment  was  a 
just  one,  for,  was  not  he,  after  all,  like  one  of  the  fools 
and  coxcombs  whom  he  had  always  so  despised — who 
believed  every  girl's  glance  to  be  directed  to  them, 
every  woman's  song  addressed  to  their  susceptible  heart. 
A  just  punishment,  he  kept  repeating,  and  none  too 
great;  yet  how  should  he  bear  it  every  day  of  his  life  till 
he  died. 

Little  he  thought  of  his  disheveled  hair  and  his  reeling 
gait,  as  he  came  in  sight  of  the  quarters;  the  only  dread  he 
felt  was  that  he  might  encounter  some  one  to  whom  he 
would  have  to  speak.  But  that  prince  of  cynics,  Lieuten- 
ant Crane,  had  never  left  his  post  of  observation,  and, 
thanks  to  his  forethought,  Captain  Dun  wood,  all  uncon- 
scious of  his  friend's  management,  safely  reached  the  room 
he  had  left  that  morning  with  his  heart  a-flutter.  Only 
that  morning?  It  seemed  ages  since;  and  would  time 
always  drag  like  this,  till  it  merged  into  eternity? 
Then  a  heavy  stupor  took  possession  of  him,  he  heard 
-no  duty-call,  no  bugle-sound,  till  late  in  the  evening 
when  Lieutenant  Crane  knocked  at  his  door  to  inquire 
whether  he  would  receive  Lieutenant  Howard's  report  at 
roll-call. 

When  the  young  lieutenant  stood  before  his  commanding 


"Another  Juanita. "  27 

officer  a  little  later,  making  the  official  report  of  his  expe- 
dition, he  seemed  utterly  oblivious  of  the  haggard  face  and 
blood-shot  eyes  which  it  pained  his  tender  heart  to  note. 
During  the  hours  that  followed,  Captain  Dunwood  moved 
among  his  men  as  duty  demanded,  both  his  lieutenants, 
with  an  adroitness  born  of  the  affection  they  felt  for  their 
commander,  standing  between  him  and  the  things  that  they 
felt  must  jar  upon  his  feelings  this  day.  But  late  in  the 
night,  long  after  tattoo  had  rounded  off  the  duties  of  the 
day,  and  taps  had  warned  the  soldiers  in  their  quarters  that 
lights  must  be  put  out,  Captain  Dunwood  sat  in  his  room 
again,  alone  and  desolate  of  heart,  as  he  felt  he  should 
always  be. 

Only  the  steps  of  the  sentinel,  as  he  paced  to  and  fro 
with  measured  tread,  fell  upon  his  ear;  but  the  monotonous 
refrain  of  "All  is  well" — heard  a  thousand  times  before — 
made  discord  in  his  soul  to-night.  Then  at  last  he  took,  from 
where  it  had  pressed  close  against  his  heart,  the  little  worn 
prayer-book  of  the  dead  girl,  and  reverently  laid  it  on  the 
table  before  him.  Hot  tears  shot  into  his  eyes  as  he  read 
on,  and  again  he  heard  her  singing,  in  tones  that  were 
pleading,  beseeching,  entreating,  the  grand  old  hymn  to  the 
mother  of  God — 

"Ave  Maria— Ave  Maria! 
Gracia  plena,  Dominus  tecum. 
Benedicts  tu,  in  mulieribus, 
Benedictus  fructus,  ventris  tue  Jesu. 
Ave  Maria — Gracia  plena, 
Ave  Maria — Ave  Maria!" 


2g  "Another  Juanita" 

"  Santa  Maria— Santa  Maria! 
Mater  Dei,  ora  pronobis. 
Ora  pronobis,  peccatoribus, 
Nunc  et  in  hora  mortris  nostra,  amen. 
Santa  Maria — Mater  Dei, 
Santa  Maria,  ora  pronobis!" 


CAMP-LIFE  IN  ARIZONA. 


CAMP-LIFE  IN  ARIZONA. 

WE  reached  Tucson  just  in  time  to  attend  Major  Smith's 
wedding.  Looking  on  the  scene  that  night,  I  quite  forgot 
that  I  was  in  Arizona.  The  bride  was  faultless  in  white 
moire  antique,  blonde  veil,  and  satin  slippers.  Wives  of 
the  military  officers  and  civil  dignitaries  of  the  Territory 
were  not  behind  in  elegance  of  dress  and  appointments,  and 
the  gay  uniforms  and  regulation  epaulettes  of  the  officers 
made  up,  altogether,  what  Jenks  would  have  called  a 
''brilliant  and  recherche  assemblage."  The  General,  on 
whose  arm  I  had  been  leaning  during  the  performance  of 
the  ceremony,  was  the  first  to  salute  the  bride,  and  then  the 
band  (six  or  eight  ' '  musically  organized  ' '  soldiers  on  fur- 
lough from  Camp  Grant)  struck  up  one  of  those  soft, 
thrilling  waltzes  that  only  the  dark-eyed  Mexicans  could 
have  taught  these  susceptible  individuals.  I  am  afraid  that 
I  was  less  interested  in  the  dancing  than  in  the  supper, 
which  was  a  source  of  unlimited  wonder  to  me,  but  accounted 
for,  perhaps,  in  part,  by  the  knowledge  that  the  groom  was 
quartermaster  of  the  United  States  Army,  and  the  father  of 
the  bride,  one  of  the  oldest  and  wealthiest  citizens  of  Tucson. 

I  was  to  spend  the  summer  in  camp,  some  sixty  miles 
below  Tucson,  and  the  colonel,  his  wife  and  I,  started  out 
on  the  following  afternoon,  with  a  dozen  cavalrymen  as 
escort,  and  reached  camp  just  at  guard-mount  the  next 


32  Camp- Life  in  Arizona. 

morning.  The  officers  who  had  not  been  fortunate  enough 
to  obtain  the  post  commander's  permission  to  attend  the 
grand  wedding,  soon  called  at  the  colonel's  quarters  to 
hear  the  good  news  in  general,  and  accounts  of  the  festivi- 
ties in  particular.  The  colonel's  junior  lieutenant  had 
been  particularly  anxious  to  attend,  and  had  been  pining 
away,  he  said,  since  the  colonel  had  left  camp  without  him. 
The  commanding  officer  himself  called  while  he  was  still 
complaining,  and,  to  make  amends  for  his  cruelty  to  the 
youth,  the  captain  requested  that  I  should  choose  him,  the 
lieutenant,  to  act  as  escort  and  cavalier  on  my  first  ride. 
The  lieutenant  declared  himself  amply  satisfied  with  the 
reparation  made,  and  started  joyously  to  prepare  himself, 
when  we  were  a  little  surprised  to  see  him  turn  very 
abruptly,  and  re-enter  the  room  somewhat  quicker  than  he 
had  left  it.  Behind  him  appeared  Braun,  the  cook,  beating 
the  ground  furiously  with  a  heavy  piece  of  wood,  and 
screaming,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  ''Look  out!  look  out! 
he's  half  dead,  but  he  can  crawl  yet,"  and,  crowding  to 
the  door,  we  saw  a  most  beautiful  specimen  of  an  Arizona 
rattle-snake,  some  six  feet  long,  trying  to  escape  from 
Braun' s  vigorous  blows.  But  the  blows  had  been  well 
aimed,  and  the  snake  soon  lay  motionless  at  the  corner  of 
the  adobe  kitchen,  inside  which  Braun  had  first  discovered 
it,  curled  up  on  the  flour-sack. 

Some  time  after,  when  I  left  my  tent,  equipped  and  ready 
to  mount  my  horse,  I  noticed  that  he  stood  just  where  the 
snake  had  breathed  its  last,  but,  since  I  no  longer  saw  it 
there,  I  concluded  it  had  been  taken  away  from  under  the 


Camp- Life  in  Arizona.  33 

horse's  feet,  and  thrown  out  among  the  weeds.  What  my 
screams  were  like  when,  on  retiring  to  my  tent  for  the  night, 
I  stooped  to  look  under  the  bed  (pursuant  to  a  time-honored 
custom)  before  getting  into  it,  and  there  found  the  snake 
curled  up  for  a  comfortable  night's  sleep,  I  will  leave  my 
lady  readers  to  imagine;  they  brought  half  the  garrison  to 
the  spot.  The  snake  was  killed  over  again  and  buried  in 
the  ground,  six  feet  deep. 

People  are  accustomed  to  think  and  speak  of  Arizona,  as 
though  the  whole  Territory  were  one  waste  of  sand  and  dust; 
yet,  could  but  that  fearful  scourge,  the  Apache,  be 
removed,  there  are  portions  of  this  country  that  would  soon 
vie,  in  life  and  beauty,  with  the  most  populous  sections  in 
California — only  small  portions  of  it,  I  must  acknowledge — 
and  here,  at  the  foot  of  the  grand  old  mountain  overlooking 
our  camp,  was  such  a  spot.  The  grass  and  wild  flowers  are 
always  fresh  and  green,  from  the  showers  of  rain  that  fall 
almost  every  week  during  the  summer  months  here,  and  the 
sun,  as  it  sinks  slowly  behind  the  mountain,  tints  the  sky 
with  brilliant,  yet  delicate  hues,  such  as  I  have  never  seen 
elsewhere.  Riding  forth  on  such  evenings,  nothing  could 
exceed  the  sense  of  unbounded  joy  and  freedom  I  felt,  not- 
withstanding my  fear  of  the  Indians,  whom  I  always 
expected  to  find  behind  the  first  little  hillock,  or  the  next 
clump  of  trees,  which  the  colonel  had  forbidden  us  to  pass. 
Sometimes  we  would  play  "  Central  Park,"  on  these  rides — 
the  colonel  and  his  wife,  my  companion  and  myself,  and  all 
the  officers  who  did  not  happen  to  be  on  duty.  Keeping 
within  the  lines  the  post  commander  had  designated  as 


34  Camp-Life  in  Arizona,. 

"safe,"  we  would  pass  and  repass  each  other— some  on 
horseback,  some  in  ambulances,  and  others  on  foot— assum- 
ing  all  the  style  and  air  of  New  York  tKte,  as  we  bowed  and 
saluted  afresh,  every  time  we  met 

The  colonel  was  die  only  married  officer  in  camp,  so  it 
was  a  matter  of  course  that  the  general,  who  was  expected 
on  a  friendly  visit  at  the  post,  should  be  entertained  at  our 
quarters.  Not  that  we  had  room  enough  to  invite  him  to 
share  our  abode;  his  bachelor  friends  might  give  him  quar- 
ters, but  we  would  give  him  a  state  dinner,  on  the  day  of  bis 
arrival.  The  colonel's  quarters  consisted  of  one  odbfe  room, 
which  served  as  parlor,  sitting-room,  bed-room,  and  dining- 
room,  in  wet  weather  and  on  festal  occasions.  Beside  it 
was  the  tent  devoted  to  my  use,  and  opposite  both  stood 
what  had  once  been  another  <&&*fc  house,  but  was  now  a 
roofless  ruin,  with  crumbling  watts,  containing  gaps,  here 
and  Acre,  marking  the  places  where  doors  had  once  been 
projected  This  was  our  kitchen,  as  a  large,  open  fire-place 
in  one  corner,  a  1%  pile  of  ashes  in  the  other,  and  a  large 
home-made  table  in  the  middle  of  the  mud  floor,  plainly 
told 

Did  I  say  this  structure  was  roofless?  I  beg  pardon; 
there  was  a  piece  of  canvas  or  tent  doth  spread  over  that 
part  of  it  where  the  cooking  operations  went  on,  only  it  was 
not  long  enough  nor  strong  enough,  and,  when  it  rained, 
the  rain  water,  that  gathered  in  a  pool  directly  over  the 
fire-place,  was  always  sure  to  break  through  and  come 
down,  extinguishing  the  fire  and  all  hopes  of  dinner,  just 
as  Braun  would  get  ready  to  serve  that  meal  It  was 


Cain},  A///    ///   /Iti-rma.  35 

comical  to  watch  Bnimi  after  such  mishaps.  With  his 
india-rubber  blanket  thrown  over  his  shoulders,  he  would 
pick  his  way,  through  ib<:  oVrj>  j>u<M)<-s  of  w;it<  r  on  th«- 
floor,  to  the  ash-pile,  opposite  the  fire-place,  and  there  seat 
himself,  and,  with  his  shaggy  head  supported  by  his  smutty 
hands,  would  grimly  stare  at  the  pots  and  pans,  filled  and 
bespattered  with  ashes  from  the  recent  cloud-burst  of 
canvas. 

Our  supply  of  canned  fruit  and  vegetables  had  almost 
given  out  when  the  time  was  set,  definitely,  for  the  general'* 
visit,  and  we  devoutly  hoped  that  the  commissary  train 
might  come  in  from  California  before  the  general's  arrival; 
but  when  it  came,  we  found  that  the  usual  amount  of  toll 
had  been  taken  at  Fort  Yuma,  so  that  there  was  very  little 
left  for  the  military  posts  in  Arizona.  Among  the  dishes 
served  for  dinner  were  baked  beans  and  a  meat-pie.  The 
latter  the  general  gallantly  took  to  be  chicken,  when  told 
that  I  had  had  a  finger  in  the  pie;  but  the  desert  was  excel- 
lent, for  we  had  still  some  fruits  and  jellies  left,  with  plenty 
of  sugar,  spice  and  wine, 

I  have  forgotten  the  exact  words  of  the  old  saying,  that 
"  no  mortal  must  prize  himself  happy  before  his  days  are 
ended/'  but  I  know  that  the  colonel's  wife  and  myself  were 
just  exchanging  congratulations  on  the  success  of  our  dinner, 
in  an  undertone,  while  placing  dessert  on  the  table,  when 
an  orderly  stopped  at  the  door,  and,  dismounting,  announced 
the  arrival  of  the  major  from  the  neighboring  jx>&t,  together 
with  his  wife,  his  lieutenant  and  his  lieutenant'*  wife.  The 
ambulance  was  already  at  the  door;  the  colonel's  wile  held 


36  Camp- Life  in  Arizona. 

up  her  hands  aside  in  horror;  Braun  was  rattling  among  the 
dishes  at  a  fearful  rate;  where  should  we  get  dinner  for  the 
new-comers,  if  he  had  made  away  with  the  remnants  of  the 
feast?  But,  thanks  to  Braun,  very  soon  a  warm  dinner 
graced  the  table,  and  the  gentlemen,  who  had  left  their 
meal  and  dessert  untouched  on  the  ladies'  arrival,  unwit- 
tingly assisted  us  in  serving  quite  a  handsome  repast  to  the 
late  arrivals. 

The  next  day  was  devoted  to  visiting  some  curious 
springs,  not  far  from  camp.  The  captain  sent  a  large 
escort  with  us,  as  the  place  was  not  considered  safe  from 
Indians,  but  we  forgot  all  danger  while  viewing  the  scenery 
.along  the  banks  of  the  creek,  or  river,  into  which  the 
springs  emptied.  It  was  grand,  although  desolate  in  its 
utter  loneliness  and  silence. '  The  petrifactions  made  by  the 
water  of  the  springs  were,  possibly,  still  more  remarkable. 
No  sculptor  could  chisel  more  delicately,  from  marble  or 
stone,  than  the  leaves,  the  flowers,  and  the  vines  that  were 
here  preserved  in  undying  beauty.  Running  over  bright, 
green  ferns,  in  some  places, -it  was  singular  to  mark  how  the 
water  was  gradually  freezing  the  tender  leaves  into  stone. 
They  still  looked  green,  but  felt  brittle  and  crisp  to  the 
touch,  as  though  a  sharp  frost  had  overtaken  them,  and 
brushing  these  leaves  aside,  underneath  were  found  those 
already  brown,  and  in  a  state  of  perfect  petrifaction. 

After  admiring  all  there  was  to  be  seen  on  this  side  of  the 
stream,  we  felt  a  natural  desire  to  cross  over  and  see  the 
other  side.  The  gentlemen  brought  huge  stones  to  pile  up 
in  the  water,  and  the  ladies  were  assisted  over.  The  general 


Camp- Life  in  Arizona.  37 

acted  as  my  cavalier,  and  it  so  happened  that  we  were 
the  last  to  cross.  The  rocks  were  wet  and  slippery,  and 
stepping  from  one  to  the  other,  just  in  the  middle  of  the 
creek,  where  the  water  was  deepest,  I  glided  out,  or  the 
rock  turned,  and  I  went  into  the  water,  drawing  the  general, 
who  held  me  by  the  hand,  in  after  me.  Fortunately,  the 
water  was  not  very  deep,  and  the  sun  hot,  so  that  there  was 
little  danger  to  be  apprehended,  either  from  drowning  or 
taking  cold.  But,  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  it  was  a  matter  of 
speculation  with  the  whole  party  whether  the  general  had 
meant  to  commit  suicide,  or  I  had  contemplated  self-de- 
struction; whether  I  had  tried  to  drown  the  general,  or  the 
general  had  wanted  to  consign  me  to  a  watery  grave;  till  it 
was  finally  determined  that  the  double  drowning-match 
must  have  been  a  preconcerted  thing  between  us,  as  we  had 
" plumped  in"  at  the  same  time,  and,  but  for  their  timely 
interference,  would  probably  have  reached  the  river  Styx 
arm-in-arm,  as  we  had  jumped  off  the  rocks  together. 

The  camp  seemed  very  quiet  after  our  guests  had  de- 
parted; though  dull  or  tedious,  as  many  complain,  a  camp 
can  never  be,  as  long  as  the  War  Department  does  not  take 
fife  and  drum  from  infantry  and  the  bugle  from  cavalry — as 
it  has  already  taken  regimental  bands  from  both.  Reveille 
awakens  the  sleeper  from  his  dreams  in  the  morning,  and 
throughout  the  day,  the  ever-changing  and  ever- returning 
calls  shorten  the  hours  till  "  tattoo"  and  "  taps  "  send  us  to 
bed  again  at  night.  Waking  up  in  the  night,  the  long- 
drawn,  monotonous  ' 'twelve  o'clock,  and  all  is  well"  of  the 
sentinels  on  guard  gives  one  a  delicious  feeling  of  safety  and 


38  Camp-Life  in  Arizona. 

security,  although,  at  the  same  time,  what  may  seem  to  be 
the  coyotes  yelping  and  barking  close  to  your  tent,  may  be 
Apache  Indians.  During  the  day,  every  duty,  military  or 
household,  is  regulated  and  performed  by  the  different  calls 
of  the  bugle.  The  colonel's  wife  would  ask  of  the  cook, 
"Braun,  is  it  not  time  to  put  the  beef  on  the  fire  for 
dinner?"  And  Braun  would  answer,  "  It  is  only  a  little 
after  fatigue- call."  Or,  if  I  asked  the  orderly,  "When  will 
you  have  time  to  take  my  saddle  to  the  company  sad- 
dler's?" he  would  answer,  "After  stable-call."  "And  how 
late  is  it  now  ?  "  "  Water-call  has  just  gone. ' ' 

There  is  one  plague  in  Arizona,  more  to  be  dreaded,  I 
think,  than  scorpion  or  tarantula,  centipede  or  rattlesnake;  it 
is  the  fever.  I  will  leave  it  to  the  army  surgeon  I  met  in 
Tucson  to  describe  the  different  phases  and  stages  of  this 
dreaded  disease,  and  will  only  say  that  more  than  one-half 
the  men. of  the  garrison,  and  the  greater  number  of  officers, 
had  succumbed  to  its  insidious  attacks  before  the  summer 
was  half  spent.  The  colonel,  too,  was  falling  a  victim  to  it, 
and  the  post  commander  giving  the  colonel  permission  to 
leave  the  camp  in  quest  of  health,  we  concluded  to  return 
the  visit  of  the  ladies  at  the  next  post.  My  plan  to  make 
the  trip  on  horseback,  was  violently  opposed  at  first;  the 
colonel  was  too  sick  to  ride  on  horseback;  the  captain,  as 
commanding  officer,  could  not  leave  the  post  (for  there  was 
no  officer  well  enough  to  take  his  place;)  the  colonel's  senior 
lieutenant  was  already  in  the  camp  whither  we  were  going,,  on 
business,  and  the  junior,  with  all  his  songs,  and  laughter,  and 
gayety,  was  brought  very  near  to  death's  door  by  the  fever. 


Camp-Life  in  Arizona.  39 

When  the  time  came  I  mounted  Black  Prince,  and  found 
the  captain  on  his  iron-gray,  by  my  side.  The  colonel  and 
his  wife  occupied  the  ambulance,  and  the  captain  rode  with 
us  some  five  or  six  miles.  My  side-saddle  contained  a 
pocket  large  enough  to  hold  a  pistol,  and  the  captain  had 
sent  me  a  derringer,  on  the  previous  day,  to  carry  in  it,  as 
he  did  not  consider  my  undertaking  quite  safe,  though  we 
had  ten  cavalrymen  as  escort.  On  the  point  of  taking 
leave  from  us,  the  captain  ordered  three  of  the  men  to  ride 
close  behind  me,  and  then  turned  to  ask: 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  have  that  pistol  with  you  now  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly,  captain,"  said  I.  "It  is  in  my  travel- 
ing-bag, in  the  bottom  of  the  ambulance." 

The  captain  looked  blank. 

"Just  like  a  woman,"  he  was  impolite  enough  to  say. 
"  If  the  Indians  come,  of  course  they'll  give  you  time  to  go 
to  the  ambulance,  to  hunt  up  your  valise,  and  find  your 
pistol." 

An  indignant  reply  rose  to  my  lips,  but  the  next  moment 
pity  took  the  place  of  indignation;  the  poor  man  was  a 
bachelor.  And  I  then  and  there  formed  the  Christian  res- 
olution to  introduce  him  to  all  the  pretty  girls  of  my 
acquaintance,  in  San  Jose",  Alameda  and  San  Francisco,  the 
very  next  time  he  came  to  California,  on  furlough. 

I  believe,  to  this  day,  that  the  captain  threw  an  evil  eye 
after  us  when  we  parted,  or  used  some  other  spell  to  bring 
the  Apaches  on  us,  to  punish  me  for  acting  "just  like  a 
woman,"  for  when  we  approached  the  point  of  a  range  of 
low  hills,  rising  out  of  the  valley  we  were  traversing,  the 


40  Camp- Life  in  Arizona. 

corporal  in  command  of  the  escort  suddenly  halted  the  train, 
and  rode  up  to  the  ambulance.  I,  too,  rode  up,  just  in 
time  to  hear  the  corporal  report  to  the  colonel,  that  he  had 
seen  the  head  of  an  Indian,  peering  over  the  edge  of  the 
hill,  a  moment  ago. 

"The  more  fool  you  are,  then,  for  halting,  and  giving 
them  a  chance  to  cut  us  down,"  said  the  colonel,  angrily. 
"  Tell  the  men  to  look  to  their  arms.  Ride  close  behind 
the  ambulance,"  he  said  tome,  hastily:  "there  is  no  time 
to  dismount  now.  See — there  they  come!" 

Around  the  sharp  corner  dashed  the  wild,  horribly 
painted  figures  of  some  fifteen  or  twenty  Apaches,  mounted 
on  little,  fleet,  shaggy  ponies,  yelling  like  so  many  devils, 
and  leaning  far  over  their  horse's  sides,  they  aimed  their 
arrows  at  us,  while  following  the  curve  of  the  road,  that 
brought  them  directly  on  us.  They  had  evidently  not 
expected  the  ready  fire  that  received  them,  for  their  horses 
swerved  from  the  road.  Passing  to  the  right  of  us,  they 
galloped  on,  shrieking  and  yelling,  till  they  were  far  in  the 
rear  of  us,  and  then,  without  a  moment's  hesitation  or  con- 
sultation, they  abruptly  turned,  and  charged  on  us  once 
more.  But  the  colonel  had  already  given  his  orders. 

"Whip  up  your  mules,"  he  called  to  the  driver,  "and 
let  your  horse  have  his  head,"  He  continued  to  me. 
"  Keep  close  by  the  ambulance,  and  the  men  will  cover  our 
retreat." 

We  soon  left  the  men  behind,  for  we  were  on  open 
ground,  and  had  no  ambush  to  fear.  Once  in  a  while  a 
stray  arrow  would  reach  us,  whizzing  through  the. air,  and 


Camp- Life  in  Aiizona.  41 

frightening  the  animals  into  greater  speed;  but  the  soldiers, 
following  us  at  just  sufficient  distance  to  prevent  the  In- 
dians separating  the  ambulance  from  the  escort,  received 
the  "  brunt  of  the  battle  "  on  their  devoted  heads.  I  had 
no  need  to  guide  Black  Prince;  he  understood  the  situation 
as  well  as  we  did.  So  I  could  turn,  from  time  to  time,  to 
cast  a  hasty  look  on  the  confused  scene  behind  me. 

The  colonel  was  by  no  means  idle,  and  once,  when  some 
of  the  bravest  "braves"  had  almost  succeeded  in  cutting 
us  off  from  the  escort,  and  surrounding  us,  it  was  his 
revolver  that  sent  the  balls  which  made  some  of  the  savages 
yell  even  more  horribly,  before  dropping  bow  and  arrow 
from  their  stiffening  fingers.  I  had  often  heard  it  said  that 
the  Indian  warriors,  when  going  forth  to  fight,  were  fastened 
to  their  horses  in  such  a  manner,  that,  even  though  they 
received  their  death- wound,  the  enemy  never  saw  them  fall. 
It  must  have  been  so  in  this  case;  for,  though  the  men  had 
counted  five  of  them  reeling,  and  ghastly  through  all  their 
paint,  not  one  had  fallen  to  the  ground.  But  they  did  not 
again  attempt  to  cut  us  off  from  the  escort.  The  soldiers 
drew  closer  to  the  ambulance,  and  though  some  of  the 
Indians  followed  us  for  miles,  probably  in  the  hope  that  the 
one  mule  which  had  been  badly  wounded  would  give  out, 
and  leave  us  to  their  mercy,  we  wore  out  their  patience  at 
last,  and  reached  the  camp  just  in  time  to  save  the  mule 
from  dying  on  the  road. 

Of  course,  neither  the  men  nor  the  horses  had  come  off 
unscathed;  but  as  no  scalps  had  been  taken  by  the  Indians, 
the  men  regarded  the  attack  as  rather  a  pleasant  little 


42  Camp-Life  in  Arizona. 

episode,  particularly  as  it  made  heroes  of  them  during  their 
stay  in  the  camp. 

Quarters  were  not  more  plentiful  here  than  they  were  at 
our  post,  so  it  was  decided  that  we  four  ladies  should  take 
possession  of  the  major's  quarters,  while  the  gentlemen — 
the  colonel,  his  senior  lieutenant,  and  the  major — were 
to  occupy  the  quarters  of  the  major's  lieutenant,  who  was 
also  the  quartermaster  of  the  post.  The  colonel's  senior 
lieutenant  was  quartermaster  at  our  post,  and  his  stay  here 
was  connected  with  some  quartermaster  transactions.  When 
tea  was  over,  the  gentlemen  adjourned  to  the  lieutenant's 
quarters,  opposite  the  parade  ground,  and  some  distance 
off.  A  long  while  we  waited  for  their  return,  as  they  had 
promised  to  come  back  to  say  good-night,  and  when  tattoo 
was  gone,  and  ' '  taps ' '  were  sounded,  we  retired  for  the 
night,  half  expecting  to  hear  the  gentlemen's  knock  on  the 
only  door  the  house  contained,  sometime  before  we  fell 
asleep;  but  we  slept  without  being  disturbed.  In  the  morn- 
ing, the  colonel's  wife  expressed  her  surprise  that  the  colonel 
had  gone  to  bed  without  bidding  her  good-night;  the 
major's  wife  betrayed  her  indignation,  and  the  lieutenant's 
wife — but  recently  married — said  such  a  thing  had  never 
happened  to  her  before.  Nine  o'clock  came,  and  with  it 
the  colonel. 

"  What  had  kept  him  away  last  evening  ?  "  his  wife  asked. 

' '  Oh,  the  post  quartermaster  had  had  some  very  difficult 
papers  to  make  out,  had  his  quarterly  accounts  to  send  in, 
so  they  had  helped  him  till  eleven  o'clock,  and  then  went  to 
bed." 


Camp- Life  in  Arizona.  43 

Ten  o'clock  brought  the  major. 

1 '  Why  had  he  not  returned  last  night  ?  ' ' 

"Oh,  the  post  quartermaster  had  had  some  very  difficult 
papers  to  make  out;  it  was  no  more  than  their  duty  to  help 
him,  so  they  had  all  sat  up  till  twelve  o'clock  making  out 
accounts,  and  then  went  to  bed." 

Eleven  o'clock  came,  and  with  it  the  colonel's  senior 
lieutenant. 

1 '  Was  it  right  to  neglect  the  ladies,  as  he  had  done  last 
night  ? ' ' 

"Well,  no;  but  the  post  quartermaster  had  had  some 
very  difficult  papers  to  make  out;  it  was  no  more  than  fair 
that  they  should  help  him,  so  they  had  all  sat  up  with  him 
till  two  o'clock,  and  then  it  was  certainly  too  late  to  bid  the 
ladies  good-night." 

The  post  quartermaster  himself  failed  to  put  in  an  appear- 
ance altogether,  and  when  his  wife  visited  their  quarters, 
late  in  the  afternoon,  she  found  him  in  bed,  with  an  excruci- 
ating headache.  So  we  all  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
those  quartermaster  papers  must  have  been  very  difficult 
indeed  to  make  out. 

A  dark  rumor  reached  our  ears  some  weeks  later,  which, 
however,  we  utterly  refused  to  believe.  The  soldier  on 
duty  as  orderly,  while  we  were  at  the  camp,  was  reported  to 
have  said,  that  on  the  morning  following  the  day  of  our 
arrival  there,  the  floor  of  the  "little  black-room"  at  the 
sutler's  had  been  thickly  strewn  with  playing-cards,  cigar- 
stumps,  and  empty  champagne  bottles.  We  never  could 
quite  account  for  this  singular  phenomenon;  the  soldiers,  of 


44  Camp- Life  in  Arizona. 

\ 

course,  are  neither  admitted  to  the  sutler's  "little  back- 
room," nor  do  they,  as  a  general  thing,  take  champagne 
and  cigars  with  their  surreptitious  games  of  cards;  there  had 
been  no  officers  at  the  post  except  those  mentioned.  So 
the  most  natural  conclusion  we  could  come  to,  was,  that  the 
sutler,  a  young  man  of  twenty-four,  (who,  I  always  thought, 
had  quicksilver  in  his  veins,  from  his  utter  inability  to 
remain  in  one  position  longer  than  five  minutes)  had  passed 
the  night  in  that  "little  back-room,"  playing  solitaire,  and 
had  drank  champagne,  and  smoked  cigars,  to  keep  from 
falling  asleep  over  this  most  harmless  and  interesting  game. 


SAN  XAVIER  DEL  BAG. 


SAN  XAVIER  DEL  BAG. 

THE  major's  wife  had  the  brightest  and  most  roguish 
black  eyes,  and  the  reddest  lips  I  ever  saw.  The  general 
called  her  his  " youngest  child,"  as  the  major  had  only 
recently  been  married,  and  she  had  just  been  installed  pre- 
siding genius  over  the  handsome  adobe  building  on  the 
corner  opposite  the  general's  headquarters  in  Camp  Lowell 
(Tucson).  The  flag  waved  proudly  above  this  house,  since 
the  general  had  rooms  here,  and  messed  with  us;  this  cir- 
cumstance being  greatly  in  our  favor  just  now,  as  we  had  an 
object  to  accomplish. 

Captain  W.  had  come  to  Tucson  on  a  ten  day's  furlough, 
and  since  neither  Mrs.  S.  nor  I  had  ever  seen  the  two  old 
missions  which  have  acquired  so  much  distinction  in  the 
course  of  years,  he  was  anxious  that  we  should  all  visit 
them  together.  The  mission  nearest  us,  that  of  San 
Xavier  del  Bac,  was  only  nine  miles  from  Tucson;  the 
other,  Tomacarcori,  near  Tubac,  was  over  fifty  miles 
from  there.  However,  it  was  impossible  to  visit  even 
San  Xavier  without  a  strong  and  reliable  escort  of  sold- 
iers, for  the  Papagoes  themselves,  living  in  consider- 
able numbers  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  old  church, 
were  not  always  safe  from  the  attacks  of  their  savage 
brethren,  the  Apaches,  and  to  "gobble  up"  a  party 
consisting  of  two  military  officers  and  two  white-  women, 


48  San  Xavier  Del  Bac. 

would  have  been  of  the  greatest  imaginable  relish  to  the 
ferocious  Johns. 

So  we  had  two  points  to  make;  in  the  first  place,  the 
general  must  be  brought  to  give  the  major  an  eight  days' 
furlough;  in  the  next  place,  he  must  give  us  at  least  ten  or 
twelve  men  as  escort.  The  major's  wife  was  careful  to 
instruct  the  cook  not  by  any  means  to  get  the  roast  over- 
done; the  pudding  received  my  special  attention,  and  Mrs. 
S.  also  prepared  the  coffee  with  her  own  hand,  and  saw  that 
the  rice  was  put  into  the  soup  early  enough.  Of  course  the 
captain  was  in  the  secret  of  the  attack  meditated  on  the 
general,  and  smiled  like  a  cynic  when  he  heard  his  superior 
officer  unwarily  praise  the  soup  and  unsuspectingly  ask  for 
the  second  cup  of  coffee. 

And  now  the  fire  was  opened.  The  general  resisted  for 
awhile;  he  could  not  spare  the  major,  his  quartermaster, 
and  how  was  he  to  spare  twelve  men  to  follow  two  venture- 
some women  around  the  country?  Besides,  there  was  no 
ambulance  at  the  post,  except  that  assigned  to  his  own  use, 
and  were  we  all  four  to  crowd  into  the  captain's  buggy  ? 
And  how  was  he  ever  to  get  his  breakfast,  if  James  was 
left  to  his  own  devices  ?  He  never  got  his  coffee  now  till 
ten  o'  clock  in  the  morning — and  then  it  was  generally  cold. 
No,  neither  the  major  nor  his  wife  could  go — that  was  his 
fiat.  Silence  followed,  and  then  fearful  threats  of  chilly 
coffee,  cold  bread  and  frigid  beefsteak,  to  the  end  of  all 
time — to  say  nothing  of  pouting  looks  and  refusals  to  play 
'  'dummy  ' '  at  whist — were  brought  into  the  field.  The 
general  quailed,  wavered,  and  finally  capitulated  and 


San  Xavier  Del  Bac.  49 

surrendered.  Terms  of  capitulation  were:  six  day's  fur- 
lough granted  to  the  major,  the  general's  own  ambulance, 
and  ten  men  to  protect  it. 

Soon  after  guard-mount  next  morning,  the  train  was  at 
the  door;  the  ambulance  with  four  mules,  the  buggy  with 
two,  and  the  ten  men  mounted  on  horses.  I  don't  know 
exactly  how  long  it  took  to  pile  and  stow  away  all  the 
baskets,  guns,  blankets,  demijohns,  revolvers,  books,  shot- 
pouches,  champagne-baskets,  powder-horns,  boxes,  car- 
bines, coffee-pots  and  general  drinking  appliances,  into  the 
two  vehicles;  but  the  sun  was  pretty  hot  when  we  left  the 
general  in  front  of  the  house,  looking  after  us  through  a 
cloud  of  dust.  We  all  anticipated  a  very  pleasant  time; — 
we  were  to  inspect  the  mission  of  San  Xavier  that  day,  and 
drive  from  there  to  Somebody's  Ranch,  where  we  expected 
to  spend  the  night,  and  starting  out  again  the  next  morning 
early,  we  would  reach  Tubac  in  the  evening.  Here  we 
could  rest  for  a  day  if  we  so  chose,  before  going  on  to  the 
Tomacarcori  mission,  from  whence  we  were  to  proceed  on  a 
visit  to  a  neighboring  post. 

The  road,  too,  was  pleasant  enough,  particularly  where 
the  Santa  Cruz  River  wound  its  narrow  band  of  silver  along 
through  the  plain.  The  mesquite  grows  into  large  trees 
here,  and  though  the  dust  was  intolerable,  away  from  the 
river,  we  should  still  have  thought  the  landscape  charming, 
considering  it  was  in  Arizona,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
numerous  rude  wooden  crosses  which  decorated  a  great 
many  of  the  trees,  marking  a  grave  at  the  foot  of  each. 
Americans,  foreigners  and  Mexicans  alike,  have  this  mark 


50  San  Xavier  Del  Bac. 

of  respect  paid  them,  when  the  Indians  have  made  away 
with  them  and  their  scalps.  A  wooden  cross  is  hung  up  in 
the  tree,  if  there  is  one  in  the  neighborhood;  if  not,  every 
one  who  passes  the  grave  lays  a  stone,  or,  where  this  can 
not  be  obtained,  a  clod  of  dirt,  or  the  bone  of  some  defunct 
animal,  on  it. 

A  dozen  or  two  of  low  buildings,  half  underground,  part 
adobe  >  part  brush,  occupied  by  Papagoes,  surrounded  the 
mission.  Of  the  extensively-cultivated  fields  they  are  said 
to  have  once  possessed,  I  could  see  no  trace,  save  a  few 
acres  in  the  immediate  neighborhood;  though  the  rank 
vegetation  of  this  low-lying  portion  of  the  country  proved 
abundantly  that  flourishing  gardens  might  be  established, 
did  but  the  Apaches  give  more  peacefully  disposed  people 
permission  to  live  here.  It  is  said  that  the  Papagoes  were 
the  most  devoted  and  industrious  subjects  of  the  Jesuit 
Fathers  who  established  the  mission,  and  the  great  regard 
which  their  descendants  still  have  for  the  mission  building 
plainly  speaks  for  this. 

The  reader  must  not  smile  to  find  me  growing  enthusi- 
astic over  Arizona  at  times;  it  is  a  country  inexhaustible  in 
its  curiosities,  natural  and  artificial.  I  stood  mute  with 
astonishment  when  I  first  saw  the  mission  of  San  Xavier. 
How  was  it  possible  that  the  stolid-looking,  brute-like 
creatures,  burrowing  in  their  filthy  huts,  could  have  had  any 
share  in  erecting  this  truly  magnificent  building?  They — 
their  ancestors  rather — must  have  been  not  only  willing  but 
pliable  tools  in  the  hands  of  the  padres  who  devised  and 
planned  the  structure.  It  is  built  of  hard-baked,  solid 


San  Xavier  Del  Bac.  51 

adobe,  and  covered  with  light-colored  plastering  on  the 
outside.  The  high  wall,  likewise  of  adobe,  enclosing  the 
corral  and  other  buildings,  had  been  stained  with  flakes  and 
dots  of  brighter  colors,  but  was  crumbling  to  ruin  faster 
than  the  church  itself.  This  was  decorated  with  massive 
cornices  in  appropriate  places,  and  though  the  dust  and  sand 
lay  thick  in  all  the  crevices  and  cavities  of  these  embellish- 
ments, there  was  no  gainsaying  the  fact  that  they  had  been 
designed  by  the  hand  of  an  artist.  The  domes  and  bell- 
towers  were  particularly  solid,  and  though  none  of  them 
aspired  to  a  very  great  height,  still  we  enjoyed  a  view  "  far 
over  the  land ' '  when  we  ascended  one  of  them  by  means  of 
winding  stairs  built  entirely  of  adobe. 

The  interior  of  the  building  is  in  a  state  of  excellent  pre- 
servation; the  bright  colors  of  the  frescoed  plafond  and 
tessallated  floor  are  as  fresh  and  glowing  as  on  the  day  the 
Jesuit  Fathers  were  driven  from  this  country  by  the  edict 
abolishing  the  order  and  expelling  its  members  from  the 
mother-country,  sometime  in  seventeen  hundred  and  seventy. 
It  is  surprising  that  this  building  has  not  in  the  course  of  all 
these  long  years  been  made  even  with  the  ground  by  the 
bands  of  hostile  Indians  continually  prowling  through  the 
country.  But  a  small  number  of  people,  comparatively 
speaking,  live  in  the  neighborhood;  still  these  few  Papagoes 
seem  to  have  beaten  off  successfully  every  attempt  the 
Apaches  have  made  to  get  possession  of  the  treasures  held 
within  the  heavy  walls  of  the  mission  building.  I  say  treas- 
ures, for  though  the  wooden  images,  executed,  however, 
with  life-like  fidelity,  and  dressed  out  in  all  the  colors  of  the 


52  San  Xavier  Del  Bac. 

rainbow,  might  not  be  considered  as  such  by  the  Apaches, 
still  the  heavy  altar  service,  made  of  pure  silver,  would  have 
as  much  attraction  for  them  as  for  the  white  man,  and  the 
beads  and  flowers  decorating  the  shrines  of  the  wooden 
saints  would  be  highly  prized  by  the  gay  Indian  belles. 

In  my  eyes  there  was  great  interest  attached  to  this  altar 
service.  I  had  been  told  by  one  of  the  American  gentlemen 
in  Tucson,  who  had  lived  there  for  twenty-five  years,  that  it 
had  been  made  of  silver  taken  from  a  ledge  owned  by  the 
padres,  worked  by  their  Indians,  and  covered,  so  as  to  hide 
it  effectually  from  all  profane  eyes,  when  driven  from  the 
country,  as  above  stated.  It  cannot  be  estimated  how  many 
lives  have  been  lost  in  vain  attempts  to  discover  this  hidden 
mine.  That  it  exists  there  is  no  doubt,  for  documents 
found  in  the  old  archives  of  Tucson  state  clearly  that  the 
locality  is  a  certain  number  of  miles  in  a  given  direction 
from  the  old  plaza  of  Tucson.  The  difficulty  is,  that  there 
are  not  American  citizens  enough  in  Tucson  to  form  a  com- 
pany to  hold  the  territory  around  the  supposed  location  of 
the  mine  for  a  sufficient  length  of  time  to  hunt  it  up,  and 
when  military  officers  are  sent  out  to  assume  command  of 
this  district,  they  are  generally  disinclined  to  furnish  escort 
a  second  time,  when  they  discover  that  the  stolen-cattle- 
hunt  or  the  citizen- Indian-scout  for  which  the  protection  of 
the  United  States  soldiers  was  claimed,  was  in  reality  a  gold 
or  silver  hunting  expedition.  And  so  the  Lost  Ledge 
remains — a  Fata  Morgana  luring  thousands  to  disappoint- 
ment and  death. 

From  the  bell  tower  we  could  look  down  into  a  narrow 


San  Xavier  Del  Bac.  53 

churchyard,  filled  with  unadorned  but  remarkably  well-kept 
graves,  the  last  earthly  home  of  many  of  the  self-sacrificing 
men  who  came  here  with  weary  feet  and  aching  shoulders, 
bearing  the  cross  they  have  so  successfully  planted  in  every 
part  of  the  world.  There  were  seven  ponderous  bells  in 
the  tower,  the  eighth  having  fallen  from  the  decaying  beam 
on  which  it  swung.  Great  was  the  desire  of  the  captain  to 
hear  the  tone  of  these  bells;  but  the  Mexican,  who  had 
acted  as  cicerone,  implored  him  earnestly  not  to  touch  the 
ropes  attached  to  them.  The  Papagoes,  he  said,  were 
extremely  jealous  of  people  visiting  the  mission,  and  would 
allow  no  one  to  stir  or  move  anything  on  the  premises. 
Nevertheless  the  captain  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
of  striking  one  of  the  bells  with  his  pocket-knife,  and  the 
next  moment  a  glance  at  the  row  of  huts  in  front  of  us  dis- 
closed to  our  view  a  number  of  dark  faces  so  ferocious  in 
expression  that  Mrs.  S.  and  I  declared  we  would  have  the 
rights  and  possessions  of  these  people  no  longer  infringed 
on,  if  they  were  "friendly  Indians,"  and  forthwith  we 
returned  to  the  protecting  cover  of  the  ambulance.  The 
gentlemen  could  do  nothing  but  follow,  and  the  ladies 
intimated  to  Francis,  the  driver,  their  pressing  desire  to 
travel  at  an  accelerated  speed. 

We  had  soon  left  the  Mission  behind,  and  saw  nothing 
but  sand,  a  few  straggling  mesquite  trees  and  an  occasional 
verde  bush,  till  we  reached  the  ranch.  Traveling  in  Arizona 
is  not  like  traveling  in  a  respectable  Christian  country,  where 
houses,  farms,  cattle,  stables,  cabins,  are  to  be  seen  now  and 
then.  Anyone  may  take  up  the  line  of  march  here  and 


54  San  Xavier  Del  Bac. 

continue  in  any  direction  he  chooses  for  weeks  and  not  see  a 
solitary  human  being  in  all  this  time,  if  he  is  not  inclined  to 
turn  out  of  his  way  to  hunt  up  the  few  settlers  and  cast-a- 
ways  to  be  found  here,  providing,  always,  that  a  chance 
Apache  does  not  break  up  his  ramble. 

I  have  forgotten  the  name  of  the  man  who  ' '  kept  the 
ranch  ' '  at  which  we  were  entertained  that  night.  Nor  do  I 
know  why  the  place  was  called  a  "ranch;"  the  supposition 
being  that  a  ranch  is  a  farm — Mexicanized,  of  course,  but 
still  a  place  where  vegetables  and  cereals  are  raised,  and 
cows  are  kept,  and  butter  is  made,  and  eggs  laid  by  chick- 
ens popularly  believed  to  unalterably  exist  in  and  on  such 
places.  To  give  people  who  have  not  visited  Arizona  an 
idea  of  a  ranch  in  this  delightful  country,  I  would  simply 
and  briefly  state  that  we  found,  on  an  open  flat,  a  corral, 
in  which  were  incarcerated  five  or  six  lean  Spanish  cows 
(that  always  have  one  failing — they  give  no  milk),  three 
lame  mules,  and  one  shadowy  goat.  Furthermore  there 
was  a  house,  built  of  the  same  material  as  the  corral — adobe; 
and  in  front  of  this  house  there  was  a  stake  driven  into  the 
ground  to  which  was  securely  chained — a  pig!  Sharing, 
however,  in  the  general  aspect  of  things  and  creatures  here, 
he  was  so  thin  as  to  be  almost  transparent — resembling 
much  more  the  skeleton  of  a  departed  grunter  than  a  live 

Pig- 

The  man,  an  American,  was  truly  glad  to  see  us,  and  his 
wife,  a  Mexican,  had  probably  never  seen  American 
women  before.  She  was  sick  and  looked  as  thin  as  her  four- 
footed  prolegt,  the  pig;  but  she  jabbered  most  delightedly 


San  Xavier  Del  Bac.  55 

and  delightfully  whenever  we  came  within  her  reach. 
Her  husband  cooked  a  very  plalatable  supper  for  us,  which 
consisted  mainly  of  chili  Colorado,  tortillas  and  frijoles,  and 
after  we  had  despatched  it,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  we 
became  dimly  conscious  of  the  fact  that  the  house  before  us 
consisted  of  just  one  room,  and  it  not  very  large.  The 
woman  was  sick,  so  we  could  not  hear  of  her  sleeeping  out 
of  doors — though  the  original  plan  had  been  that  Mrs.  S. 
and  I  should  sleep  in  the  house,  and  the  major,  the  captain 
and  everybody  else,  out  of  doors.  The  man  felt  duly 
grateful  to  us  for  not  wanting  to  turn  his  sick  wife  out  of  the 
house,  and  kindly  offered  to  turn  his  stock  out  of  the  corral 
and  let  us  two  ladies  sleep  there;  but  this  offer  we  declined 
on  our  side — and  we  all  slept  out  of  doors. 

The  preparations  and  procedures  in  this  case,  I  give  for 
the  benefit  of  those  who  may  find  themselves  placed  in  the 
same  situation  under  like  conditions.  Four  piles  of  fresh 
hay  were  spread  on  the  ground  in  front  of  the  house  (the 
pig  having  been  previously  removed  out  of  harm's  way)  a 
distance  of  about  ten  paces  between  the  piles;  on  each  hay- 
pile  was  spread  one  blanket  to  lie  on,  another  to  cover  with, 
and  here,  reader,  we  all  four  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just. 
The  night  was  pleasant,  and  for  a  wonder  I  was  not  afraid, 
because  half  the  number  of  our  escort  were  on  guard, 
patroling  the  space  in  front  of  the  house  where  we  lay 
hedged  in  by  the  ambulance  on  one  side  and  the  buggy  on 
the  other.  No  matter  what  the  earth  might  be  where  we 
lay,  the  heavens  above  were  beautiful, —  clearer,  bluer  than 
they  could  be  anywhere  else. 


56  San  Xavier  Del  Bac. 

We  started  for  Tubac  betimes  next  morning,  and  here  we 
found  no  lack  of  quarters.  I  don't  mean  "  quarters  "  in  a 
military  sense,  for  the  troops  stationed  here  in  the  spring  of 
the  year  had  been  removed  to  a  new  camp,  actually  leaving 
behind  them  the  roofless  walls  of  the  old  church  in  which 
their  horses  had  been  stabled.  The  house  we  took  possess- 
ion of  was  a  comfortable  adobe  building  with  a  stone  floor 
and  two  small  windows  containing  several  panes  of  glass. 
The  proprietor,  an  American,  had  taken  his  invalid  wife 
"out  of  town"  for  change  of  air,  leaving  behind  him,  in  his 
anxiety  for  the  health  of  the  enfeebled  woman,  everything 
that  could  not  be  gotten  into  his  traveling  carriage.  The 
table,  and  chairs  constructed  of  wood  and  cowhide,  were  of 
some  value  in  this  country,  not  to  speak  of  the  straw-mats 
and  bedstead  we  found  in  one  room  and  the  olio  filled  with 
sweet,  fresh  water,  and  the  gourd  dipper.  We  felt  that  our 
lines  had  fallen  in  pleasant  places,  and  concluded  to  remain 
here  the  next  day. 

What  a  decayed,  dead  place  Tubac  is!  So  silent,  so 
graveyard-like,  that  the  few  American  gentlemen  who  still 
lived  here,  and  came  to  call  on  us  in  the  course  of  the  even- 
ing, impressed  me  as  being  so  many  ghosts  who  had  left 
their  graves  and  were  digging  their  way  out  from  among 
wasted  gardens  and  crumbling  walls,  to  look  upon  their  own 
kind  in  the  flesh  once  more  after,  they  themselves  had  been 
"dead— long  dead." 

The  next  day  was  hot  and  cloudless,  the  sun  burning 
down  fiercely  on  the  silent  streets  and  ruined  houses.  It 
looked  hopeless  enough,  this  "deserted  village,"  once 


San  Xavier  Del  Bac.  57 

teeming  with  life  and  industry,  now  lifeless  and  devastated 
from  the  effects  of  the  plague  that  had  depopulated  the 
cities,  laid  waste  the  rural  districts,  and  closed  the  mines  of 
the  territory — the  Apache  Indian.  All  along  the  road  we 
traversed  that  day,  we  passed  by  groves  of  cottonwood-and 
willows,  and  along  neglected  gardens  where  the  vine  was 
still  clustering  and  the  melon  trailing  over  the  untilled 
ground.  The  land  looked  fair  to  the  eye  where  the  Santa 
Cruz  river  gratefully  refreshed  the  fields  that  bordered  it 
with  trees  and  flowers,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  oppress- 
ive silence,  in  which  there  seemed  to  lurk  danger  and  death, 
could  we  have  seen  man  and  beast  laboring  together  in  these 
rich  fields,  could  we  have  heard  the  song  of  the  ploughman 
at  his  plough,  and  the  shout  of  sturdy  children  at  play 
among  the  waving  corn  and  the  willows  by  the  stream, 
nothing  could  have  been  more  lovely  than  this  scene.  But 
instead  of  that,  there  were  only  silent  graves  among  the 
tangled  masses  of  vegetation  which  had  sprang  up  from  the 
seed  planted  there  by  the  hands  of  the  men  who  now  slept 
in  these  graves;  the  men  who  had  been  scalped  and  toma- 
hawked and  racked  and  tortured  by  the  red  fiends,  before 
the  land  they  had  tilled  in  the  sweat  of  their  brow  had  had 
time  to  bring  forth  its  crops. 

Why  do  not  the  philanthropists  of  our  eastern  cities,  who 
cry  out  on  the  military  authorities  and  the  brave  men  who 
spend  their  lives  battling  against  the  common  foe,  why  do 
not  they,  with  their  doctrine  of  eternal  kindness,  and  for- 
bearance toward  the  "noble  red  man,"  come  out  among 
the  Apaches  and  try  the  effect  of  their  preaching  in  person  ? 


58  San  Xavier  Del  Bac. 

Let  them  but  make  the  short  trip  from  Tubac  to  Calabazas, 
let  them  count  the  graves  by  the  wayside,  and  let  them 
hear  how  this  man  was  surprised  in  his  little  brush  cabin 
and  killed  while  fighting  his  way  out  of  its  smoking  walls; 
how  that  one's  scalp  had  been  taken  and  his  body  mutilated 
before  life  had  left  it;  how  the  family  of  five,  in  the  graves 
near  that  pile  of  ruins  there,  had  held  out  against  the 
enemy  year  after  year,  till  at  last,  after  suffering  tortures 
more  appalling  than  the  demons  in  hell  could  invent,  their 
remains  were  laid  to  rest  here  by  a  party  of  white  men  who 
chanced  this  way  after  long,  long  days! 

We  were  approaching  a  neighborhood  now  that  had  a 
sad  interest  for  me,  and  I  had  obtained  a  solemn  though 
reluctant  promise  from  the  captain  to  point  out  to  me  the 
exact  spot  where  the  tragedy  I  am  about  to  speak  of  had 
been  enacted.  While  on  a  visit  at  a  military  post  some  dis- 
tance from  here,  the  circumstance  took  place,  and  left  an 
impression  I  can  never  shake  off.  It  was  nothing  unusual 
at  this  place  for  one  or  two  men  to  be  "  picked  off"  by  the 
Indians  in  the  course  of  the  week.  The  colonel,  whose  wife 
I  was  visiting,  spared  neither  himself  nor  his  subordinate 
officers  in  regard  to  scouting  and  general  watchfulness;  still 
the  Indians  continued  to  surprise  the  men  tending  herd,  or 
at  work  in  the  company  garden,  mail-carrying,  or  on  escort 
duty. 

One  day  three  men  came  in,  reporting  two  men  killed 
and  the  third  (the  colonel's  bugler  during  the  war)  taken 
prisoner.  The  colonel  himself  went  in  command  of  the 
scouting  party  sent  out  in  pursuit  of  the  Indians.  It  was 


San  Xavier  Del  Bac. 


59 


horrible  to  think  of  the  poor  bugler  having  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  the  Apaches  alive, — better  dead,  a  thousand  times! 
But  search  and  pursuit  were  fruitless,  and  the  party  returned 
bringing  the  bodies  of  the  two  murdered  men.  While 
waiting  for  further  orders  from  District  Headquarters,  the 
colonel  was  told  by  a  wagon-master,  who  had  just  brought 
in  a  team  from  Tubac,  over  the  very  ground  on  which  this 
last  murder  had  been  committed,  that  the  colonel's  cousin, 
and  another  gentleman  belonging  to  the  quartermaster 
department,  would  be  likely  to  get  into  camp  in  the  evening. 
They  were  both  mounted,  he  said,  and  had  traveled  under 
cover  of  the  wagon-train  till  reaching  a  ranch  belonging  to 
an  American,  Mr.  M.,  where  they  had  stopped  to  take 
dinner  and  to  water  their  horses  at  a  neighboring  spring. 
Night  came  on,  but  we  saw  no  travelers  coming  up  the  dusty 
road,  and  we  watched  for  them  again  in  the  morning,  think- 
ing they  had  stopped  at  the  ranch  over  night.  We  walked 
quite  a  distance,  the  colonel's  wife  and  I,  to  meet  this 
cousin  of  the  colonel's,  who  had  grown  into  our  affections 
during  the  long  and  tedious  voyage  we  had  all  made 
together.  But  the  man  we  espied  at  last,  in  the  cloud  of 
dust  rolling  toward  us,  was  not  the  man  we  had  come  out  to 
meet;  it  was  Mr.  M.,  pale  and  haggard  from  over  exertion 
and  hard  riding. 

There  was  a  dead  man  lying  by  the  spring,  he  said,  and  a 
wounded  man  in  his  house,  and  he  himself  had  made  his 
way  through  the  Apaches  as  best  he  might  to  obtain  help. 

The  colonel's  cousin  was  dead,  and  his  companion  told 
us,  later,  of  the  attack  by  the  spring.  The  colonel's  cousin 


60  San  Xavier  Del  Bac. 

had  his  right  hand  disabled  from  some  accident,  so  that  he 
could  not  use  his  revolver,  and  when  they  stopped  to  let  the 
horses  drink,  he  had  said  suddenly:  "  I  don't  like  this, 
let's  go,"  and  turning  his  horse,  he  received  the  first  arrow 
in  his  side.  Urging  his  horse  up  a  little  hill  back  of  the 
spring,  he  dismounted,  probably  hoping  to  escape  into  the 
bushes;  but  the  blood  was  streaming  from  his  side,  and, 
sinking  down,  the  Apaches  sprang  on  him,  threw  him  to  the 
ground,  and  pierced  him  through  with  their  lances  till  he 
died. 

Strangely  enough,  the  detachment  of  soldiers  sent  to 
bring  his  body  to  the  camp  found  that  of  the  bugler  in  the 
bushes  near,  partly  decomposed,  torn  by  coyotes,  and 
recognized  only  by  some  rags  of  clothing  and  his  teeth. 
They  were  buried  together,  the  boxes  containing  the  bodies 
being  taken  to  the  burying-ground  outside  the  camp  on  an 
army-wagon. 

When  we  had  reached  almost  the  summit  of  a  high  hill, 
over,  or  rather  along,  the  edge  of  which  wound  a  narrow 
road,  our  train  halted;  for  from  here  could  be  seen  the 
spring  and  the  little  hill  back  of  it,  which  we  were  not  to 
pass  on  our  way.  We  left  the  ambulance,  the  better  to  see, 
and  to  get  still  a  better  vjew  of  the  surrounding  country. 
Mrs.  S.  and  I  proposed  to  climb  up  the  steep  bank  just 
above  us,  which  was  covered  with  brushwood  and  loose 
rocks.  But  the  gentlemen  would  not  hear  of  it;  indeed, 
the  captain  proposed  to  place  sentinels  if  we  chose  to  remain 
long  enough  to  dispose  of  our  lunch  in  this  place.  Seeing 
that  we  had  left  the  ambulance,  the  corporal  in  charge  of 


San  Xavier  Del  Bac.  6 1 

the  escort  gave  the  men  permission  to  dismount  and  they 
were  standing  and  lying  on  the  ground  as  best  suited  them 
to  rest  from  riding.  The  ambulance-driver,  too,  had  left  his 
seat,  and  was  holding  conversation  with  his  mules,  while 
looking  over  the  different  straps  and  buckles  of  the  harness, 
stepping  very  carefully  on  the  side  nearest  the  fall  of  the 
hill,  as  it  would  be  quite  a  little  distance  to  roll  down,  should 
he  slip  or  stumble  on  the  loose  pebbles. 

Though  declining  to  take  our  lunch  on  this  eminence, 
Mrs.  -S.  and  I  nevertheless  clambered  into  the  buggy  to  see 
what  the  gentlemen  had  provided,  and  we  were  just  descant- 
ing on  the  merits  of  some  tcmales,  prepared  and  baked 
between  maize  leaves  by  a  Mexican  woman  of  Tubac,  when 
a  shot  startled  the  mules,  which,  jumping  aside,  threw  me 
from  my  perch  to  the  ground.  Another  and  another  shot 
followed,  and  cries  and  yells  mingled  with  them,  while 
arrows  rent  the  air  with  their  own  peculiar  ' '  whiz. ' '  My 
first  thought  was  retreat  to  the  ambulance;  but  the  mules, 
frightened  and  bewildered,  plunged  and  kicked,  till  an  un- 
fortunate spring  brought  the  ambulance  too  near  the  edge 
of  the  hill,'  and  down  it  went,  vanishing  from  sight  as  it 
overturned  heavily,  as  though  trying  hard  to  maintain  its 
equilibrium.  Mrs.  S.,  in  her  terror,  was  trying  to  extricate 
herself  from  the  buggy,  where  she  had  comfortably  seated 
herself  between  baskets  and  hampers  just  before  the  attack; 
and  the  captain,  unarmed,  defenceless,  and  exposed  to  the 
musket-balls  and  arrows  of  'the  Indians  lying  in  ambush 
among  the  rocks  and  bushes  overhead,  was  holding  the 
terrified  mules  attached  to  the  buggy,  calling  on  Mrs.  S.  to 


62  San  Xavier  Del  Bac. 

remain  where  she  was  and  on  the  major  and  me  to  get  into 
the  buggy  as  quickly  as  we  could.  All  was  confusion  and 
bewilderment,  the  worst  of  the  enemy's  fire,  of  course,  being 
directed  to  the  buggy  ^and  the  women;  but  a  number  of 
savages  breaking  from  cover  to  rush  down  the  hill  after  the 
ambulance  and  secure  the  mules,  considerably  hastened  my 
movements  in  entering  the  buggy,  and  the  last  I  saw  was  a 
confused  mass  of  major,  soldiers,  Apaches  and  horses. 

I  regret  to  say  that  the  captain  was  not  polite  enough  to 
wait  till  I  was  comfortably  seated,  but  allowed  the  mules  to 
rush  off  at  break-neck  speed  the  very  moment  he  himself 
had  placed  his  foot  in  the  vehicle,  scattering  in  this  manner 
all  the  tomales,  which  the  Apaches  had  not  given  us  time  to 
secure,  and  a  number  of  hard-boiled  eggs,  over  the  road. 
Altogether,  it  was  a  fast  drive,  but  I  can  think  of  others, 
which,  if  not  quite  so  rapid,  were  better  enjoyed  by  me,  and 
besides,  the  captain  stepped  on  my  toe  getting  into  the 
buggy,  and  Mrs.  S.  lost  her  new  hat  But  we  did  not  men- 
tion these  things  to  the  captain  till  we  were  safe  in  port  at 
the  next  camp,  for  which  we  made  in  a  straight  line,  with- 
out turning  off  to  visit  the  mission  Tomacarcori,  as  we  had 
intended  on  starting.  No  doubt  we  lost  a  great  deal  by  not 
seeing  Tomacarcori  mission;  but  it  was  better  to  lose  that, 
we  concluded,  than  to  lose  our  scalps. 


CROSSING  THE  Rio  GRANDE. 


CROSSING  THE  RIO  GRANDE. 

WE  were  to  cross  the  Rio  Grande  at  Los  Pinos,  some- 
where below  Albuquerque.  This  was  our  first  crossing; 
many  and  dire  were  our  subsequent  crossings  of  this 
crooked  stream,  which  repeatedly  threw  itself  across  our 
path,  as  it  pursued  its  course  in  fitful  windings  through  the 
land.  Orders  had  been  issued  by  the  general  commanding 
the  district  that  neither  the  officers  nor  men  of  the  — th 
cavalry  should  enter  Santa  Fe"  or  Albuquerque,  and  as  the 
general's  headquarters  were  in  Santa  Fe  (Fort  Marcy)  the 
officers  reluctantly  refrained  from  making  their  appearance 
in  a  place  they  had  an  almost  irresistable  desire  to  see. 
Of  the  four  ladies  with  our  command,  only  one,  the  major's 
wife,  had  been  in  the  Territory  before;  but  as  she  spoke 
with  no  great  enthusiasm  of  the  beauties  and  attractions  of 
Santa  F6,  we,  for  our  part,  were  tolerably  content  to  pass 
by  within  twenty-five  miles  of  it.  There  had  been  heavy 
rains  throughout  the  Territory,  and  the  low  land  along  the 
river  was  mostly  under  water;  but  in  the  spot  which  the 
colonel  had  selected  for  fording,  the  water  was  shallow,  and 
we  expected  to  cross  in  safety. 

Our  train  was  quite  respectable  in  size, — three  companies 
of  cavalry,  some  twenty-five  army  wagons,  two  or  three 
pieces  of  ordnance,  and  the  carriages  and  ambulances 
which  we  were  occupying.  The  mounted  men  were  to 


66  Crossing  the  Rio  Grande. 

cross  the  river  first.  It  was  singular  to  see  how  many  of 
the  horses  rebelled  against  going  into  the  water,  and 
distressing  to  witness  the  terror  they  displayed  when  the 
treacherous  quicksand  gave  way  under  their  feet,  and  the 
wicked  flood  seemed  to  engulf  them  deeper  and  deeper. 
The  colonel,  in  his  light  carriage,  guiding  the  horses  with 
his  own  hands,  next  went  in,  followed  by  the  carriages  of  his 
subordinate  officers,  ranged  strictly  according  to  the  rank 
of  their  respective  owners.  I  gave  a  convulsive  gasp  when 
the  water,  coming  into  the  bottom  of  our  travelling-car- 
riage, first  touched  my  feet;  the  running  of  the  current 
made  me  dizzy  and  faint,  so  I  covered  my  eyes  with  my 
hands,  and  opened  them  only  when  I  felt  the  water  rise 
higher  and  higher  over  my  feet.  When  we  had  gained  the 
other  side,  the  officers  rode  from  carriage  to  carriage, 
offering  the  ladies  congratulations  on  the  first  safe  passage 
of  the  Rio  Grande,  and — a  draught  of  commissary-whisky 
from  their  field  flasks.  I,  for  one,  accepted  both  with 
thanks;  for  the  little  keg  stowed  away  under  the  seat  was 
empty;  in  fact,  we  were  out  of  supplies  of  every  kind, 
as  we  had  counted  on  drawing  from  the  Santa  Fe" 
commissary. 

The  captain  had  been  stationed  in  the  Territory  before 
the  war,  and,  as  it  happened,  our  present  colonel  had  been 
his  commanding  officer  then.  We  were  to  pass  almost 
within  sight  of  Albuquerque  on  the  following  day,  and  the 
command  was  to  camp  some  eighteen  miles  above,  at 
Peralta,  for  the  night,  and  upon  these  facts  the  captain 
based  his  plans  for  mutiny  on  a  small  scale.  When  we  had 


Crossing  the  Rio  Grande.  67 

reached  the  top  of  a  low  chain  of  hills,  he  ordered  Melville, 
the  driver,  to  stop,  and  said  to  me: 

' '  There  is  a  road  leading  down  from  here  across  the 
flat  into  Albuquerque.  If  I  can  but  remember  the  road, 
we  can  drive  into  Albuquerque,  get  supplies  from  the 
quartermaster,  and  reach  Peralta  before  nine  o'clock  to- 
night," 

I  was  delighted  with  the  prospect,  for  the  brown  sugar 
with  which  we  had  of  late  been  compelled  to  sweeten  our 
coffee,  was  not  at  all  to  my  liking;  I  knew  there  was  white 
sugar  in  the  commissary  at  Albuquerque,  so  I  did  not  in 
the  least  object  to  going  there,  although  contrary  to 
orders.  Our  orderly,  with  the  saddle-horses,  was  to  con- 
tinue on  with  the  command,  while  we  were  to  turn  down 
the  mountain  road,  here,  where  we  were  out  of  the  colonel's 
sight.  But  the  mules  drawing  our  carriage  were  warmly 
attached  to  my  white  horse,  and  they  set  up  such  an 
atrocious  screaming  on  seeing  him  led  off,  that  we  were 
forced  to  recall  Mohrman  and  let  him  take  the  lead  with 
Toby. 

Reaching  the  flat,  we  found  the  acequias,  the  deep 
ditches  dug  by  the  Mexicans  for  the  purpose  of  irrigating 
their  fields  with  water  from  the  Rio  Grande,  all  over- 
flowed, and  covering  the  fields  with  water;  but  we  man- 
aged to  pick  our  way  over  the  precarious  road,  and  soon 
discovered  a  low  round  sand-hill  in  the  distance.  Pointing 
toward  it,  the  captain  said:  "  There  is  Albuquerque;  "  but, 
open  my  eyes  as  I  might,  /  could  see  nothing  but  the  sand- 
hill and  a  strip  of  water  beyond.  The  windings  of  the 


68  Crossing  the  Rio  Grande. 

river  had  left  us  far  in  the  interior  of  the  country  on  the 
previous  day;  now  as  we  approached  the  Rio  Grande 
again,  I  saw  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  a  number  of  low  adobe 
buildings.  It  was  one  of  the  largest  cities  in  the  Territory, 
this  clump  of  mud-houses  growing  up  out  of  the  cheerless, 
monotonous  plain,  where  neither  a  blade  of  grass  nor  a 
single  wild-flower  sprang  up  to  gladden  the  heart.  Over 
toward  the  mountains,  the  country  was  more  pleasing,  and 
a  number  of  Pueblo  Indian  women,  bearing  baskets  filled 
with  the  most  delicious  of  grapes,  peaches  and  melons, 
testified  to  the  fact  that  all  of  New  Mexico  was  not  a  sterile 
plain,  and  that  all  of  its  Indians  were  not  savages. 
Mexican  women,  with  the  inevitable  revoso  covering  head 
and  shoulders,  flitted  through  the  streets,  or  haunted  the 
shops  kept  by  a  few  enterprising  Jews. 

Making  our  way  to  the  Quartermaster's  Department,  we 
were  somewhat  startled  to  see  the  colonef  s  light  carriage 
drawn  up  in  front  of  it.  We  were  on  the  point  of  beating 
a  hasty  retreat,  when  the  colonel's  querulous  voice  accosted 
the  captain: 

"  Don't  you  know,  sir,  that  the  commanding  general's 
orders  are  that  neither  officers  nor  men  of  the  — th  cavalry 
are  to  enter  Santa  Fe  or  Albuquerque  ?  ' ' 

' '  I  was  not  aware  that  any  exception  had  been  made  in 
favor  of  the  colonel  commanding  the  — th  cavalry," 
answered  the  captain,  recovering  himself,  and  for  the  rest 
of  the  day  the  captain  was  invisible  to  the  colonel's  official 
eye,  though  they  niet  at  every  corner  they  happened  to 
turn. 


Crossing  the  Rio  Grande.  6g 

The  captain  knew  that  his  salvation  depended  on  reach- 
ing camp  in  advance  of  the  colonel.  Should  the  colonel 
make  the  camp  before  we  did,  he  would  immediately 
inquire  for  the  captain,  and  place  him  under  arrest,  if  not 
court-martial  him,  for  "absence  without  leave."  So  we 
hastily  concluded  our  purchases,  entered  the  carriage,  and 
were  just  about  to  leave  the  quartermaster's  corral,  when  we 
discovered  that  Mohrman  was  missing.  Great  was  our 
distress,  and  many  and  deep,  I  fear,  the  captain's  curses. 
The  men's  quarters  were  hunted  through,  and  all  the 
saloons  of  which  the  city  could  boast  were  searched,  but 
our  Dutchman  was  not  to  be  found.  At  last  the  bugler 
was  ordered  out,  and  the  first  note  of  the  well-known 
signal  brought  Mohrman  to  the  spot,  flushed  and  excited, 
but  totally  ignorant  of  the  unpleasant  consequences  which 
his  delay  might  cause  the  captain. 

I  must  stop  here  to  state  that  the  servant-girl  whom  I  had 
engaged  at  Leavenworth  City  had  basely  deserted  me  and 
gone   over   to   the   enemy; — that  is,   she  had  married  an 
infantry  sergeant  at  Fort  Union,  leaving  me  without  cook  or 
laundress.     So  Mohrman,  still  panting  and  breathless,  and 
turning    his   hat   around    in    his    hands    very   fast,    came 
out  with: 

II  Madame,  I  know  you  don't  like  Charlie  for  a  cook,  and 
you  have  no  laundress;  now,  I  found  such  a  nice  Mexican 
girl  here  this  afternoon, — her  name  is  Joaquina.     I  think 
she  would  learn  to  cook  very  easily;  and  if  you  would  only 
get  me  the  Captain's  consent,  I'd  marry  the  girl  right  awa)r, 
so  that  she  could  wait  on  you  all  the  time." 


70  Crossing  the  Rio  Grande. 

The  Captain  answered  in  my  place;  I  could  not  tell 
exactly  what,  but  I  know  the  guard-house  was  men- 
tioned. 

Night  was  on  us  before  we  had  left  the  neighborhood  of 
the  ranches  surrounding  Albuquerque;  but  the  acequias 
were  growing  less  frequent,  so  that  I  flattered  myself  we 
should  have  little  difficulty  in  reaching  camp.  It  grew 
darker  and  darker,  until  at  last  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
distinguish  Toby's  white  form  as  he  was  led  just  in  advance 
of  the  carriage.  The  captain  thought  he  could  not  have 
forgotten  the  "lay  of  the  land"  in  seven  short  years,  and 
assured  me  that  it  was  perfectly  safe  travelling  along  the 
sand-hills  that  border  the  Rio  Grand,  where  there  is  not  an 
inch  of  ground  between  the  carriage-wheel  and  the  precipice 
high  over  the  river.  The  stars  were  reflected  in  the  waters 
far  below  me,  and  I  knew  that  one  false  step  of  our  mules 
would  send  us  all  down  to  those  bright  orbs  in  the  water. 
On  the  other  side,  the  hill  rose  high  above  us;  and  had  the 
driver  turned  but  the  length  of  a  finger  to  that  side,  the 
rebound  would  have  capsized  the  carriage  and  hurled  it 
over  the  bank. 

Thus  the  minutes  crept  on;  and  when  I  rejoiced  at  last  to 
find  that  the  road  descended  and  I  could  no  longer  see  the 
stars  below  me,  I  was  rudely  torn  from  my  fancied  security 
by  the  most  savage  yells  that  ever  greeted  humnan  ears. 
They  proceeded  from  a  spot  not  very  far  distant,  where  a 
crowd  of  half-naked  and  demon-like  forms  were  dancing 
around  a  flickering  fire. 

"Oh,   heaven!"   I  exclaimed,    "we  have  fallen  into  the 


Crossing  the  Rio  Grande.  71 

hands  of  hostile  Indians, — and  you  always  told  me  there 
were  only  friendly  ones  here!" 

The  Captain  tried  to  explain  to  me  that  they  were  only 
celebrating  some  feast,  and  proposed  to  take  one  of  the 
Indians  with  us  to  act  as  guide  to  Peralta;  but  I  refused  to 
consent,  and  Melville  gave  them  a  wide  berth,  landing  us 
after  a  little  while  in  the  midst  of  acequias  and  numberless 
pools  of  water  forming  one  endless  ocean. 

My  terror  was  considerably  increased  when  I  heard  the 
heavy  plunging  of  a  horse,  laboring  through  the  morass 
behind  us.  "  Those  are  robbers, "  I  whispered,  "  and  they 
will  challenge  us  directly."  But,  to  my  horror,  the  Cap- 
tain addressed  the  rider,  whose  figure  I  could  now  discern 
close  to  the  carriage.  He  was  a  Mexican,  who  had  seen 
where  the  ' '  Cabelleros ' '  were  camped  near  Peralta,  and 
would  guide  us  there.  So  he  rode  before  the  orderly,  and 
we  followed  Toby  as  well  as  we  could,  though  it  seemed  to 
me  we  were  getting  into  deeper  water  at  every  step.  I 
could  distinguish  trees,  too,  such  as  I  knew  grew  only  along 
the  Rio  Grande;  and  I  felt  convinced  that  the  treacherous 
Mexican  was  leading  us  straight  into  the  river.  The  water 
had  long  since  saturated  the  bag  of  white  sugar  which  I  had 
put  under  the  seat  with  my  own  hands,  and  the  package  of 
tea  beside  it  would  not  be  improved  in  flavor  by  the  muddy 
water;  but  all  this  did  not  trouble  me  so  much  under  these 
circumstances,  my  chief  aim  being  at  present  to  keep  myself 
out  of  water  and  my  eye  on  Toby — the  latter  rather  difficut, 
I  must  own,  in  the  Egyptian  darkness.  Suddenly  I  heard 
the  Mexican  call  out  something  in  Spanish,  and  Toby 


72  Crossing  the  Rio  Grande. 

vanished  into  an  abyss  of  some  kind  before  my  eyes,  while 
the  carriage  at  the  same  time  struck  against  something  hard, 
and  was  lifted  out  of  the  water.  Then  the  truth  of  the 
happy  escape  we  had  made,  dawned  on  us.  The  water 
from  the  neighboring  river  had  flooded  the  whole  flat,  and 
had  hidden  from  our  sight  the  deep  acequia  cutting  through 
the  country  here;  the  Mexican  had  given  warning,  but 
Mohrman,  not  understanding  the  language,  had  missed  the 
bridge  which  we  were  fortunate  enough  to  strike.  The 
camp-fire  flashed  on  us  a  few  moments  later.  Charlie  had 
made  the  tent  look  so  comfortable,  and  prepared  so  excel- 
lent a  supper,  that  I  was  glad  to  think  "Joaquina"  had 
not  superseded  him.  The  colonel's  orderly  had  not  yet 
inquired  for  the  captain;  so  I  presumed,  with  a  great  deal 
of  complacency,  that  our  revered  commander  was  still 
floundering  in  the  slush  and  water  of  the  Rio  Grande. 

There  were  long  and  dreary  day's  marches  to  be  made 
between  here  and  Fort  Craig,  where  the  headquarters  of  the 
— th  Regiment  were  to  be  established;  and  there,  too,  I 
should  lose  the  company  of  the  other  ladies — the  adjutant, 
the  major,  and  the  lieutenant  all  belonging  to  the  colonel's 
staff.  We  had  but  one  more  stream  to  cross  together — the 
Tecolate  ' '  creek  ' '  at  the  village  of  the  same  name.  I  did 
not  know  why  the  officers  should  show  so  much  more  aver- 
sion to  crossing  this  ' '  creek  ' '  than  they  had  evinced  at  the 
passage  of  the  Rio  Grande.  Thinking,  perhaps,  that 
1 '  ignorance  is  bliss, ' '  they  had  not  enlightened  me,  but  left 
me  to  enjoy  my  ramble  among  the  ruins  of  an  old  church, 
or  mission,  which  I  had  discovered  in  the  neighborhood  of 


Crossing  the  Rio  Grande.  73 

the  little  town.  The  other  ladies  not  becoming  so  deeply 
interested  in  the  scraps  of  glass  and  pottery  strewing  the 
ground  here,  had  returned  to  the  carriages;  and  when  the 
colonel  sent  word  that  the  large  hospital  ambulance  in  which 
we  were  to  cross  were  ready,  I  could  not  be  found.  When 
I  made  my  way  to  the  ' '  creek ' '  later,  the  ambulance  had 
already  returned  and  was  waiting  to  carry  me  over.  The 
creek  was  a  wild,  turbulent  stream,  rushing  along  with  a  fury 
that  had  already  carried  the  strong  bridge  before  it,  and  had 
lodged  it  against  a  sharp  bend  in  the  river,  where  the  skele- 
tons of  the  first  three  army-wagons  that  had  been  launched 
in  the  flood  were  keeping  it  company. 

' '  Is  there  no  other  way  of  crossing  beside  getting  into 
that  ambulance  ?  "  I  asked  in  a  very  subdued  manner. 

"None,"  was  the  colonel's  answer;  "  but  the  mules  are 
led  by  ropes,  and  an  escort  follows  the  ambulance." 

It  was  not  an  easy  task  to  hold  conversation  in  the 
immediate  neighborhood  of  the  stream.  The  colonel 
screamed  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  to  make  himself  heard 
above  the  loud  roar  of  the  water,  and  I  was  compelled  to 
repeat  every  word  I  said  three  times  over; — so  I  entered  the 
ambulance  without  another  syllable.  The  ropes  attached  to 
the  heads  of  the  mules  were  taken  in  charge  by  four  mounted 
men;  the  officers,  including  the  captain,  had  been  ordered 
to  remain  with  their  respective  companies,  but  they  came  to 
the  river  a  moment  to  speak  some  encouraging  words  to 
me,  after  which  the  signal  was  given  and  we  started.  It 
seemed  impossible  for  the  mules  to  drag  the  heavy  vehicle 
behind  them  when  they  had  once  lost  their  footing,  and 


74  Crossing  the  Rio  Grande. 

they  were  themselves  almost  dragged  along  by  the  ropes 
which  the  soldiers  held.  One  of  the  soldiers  allowed  his 
rope  to  slacken  when  the  mules  first  began  to  swim,  and  in 
an  instans  it  was  twined  around  the  animal's  legs;  the  mule 
struggled  and  kicked,  frightening  the  others,  and  soon  I 
could  see  nothing  but  one  wild  mass,  battling  and  plunging 
in  the  water.  From  the  shore  came  confused  cries  of,  "  Let 
the  mules  go — ' '  ' '  Cut  the  ropes — ' '  ' '  The  ambulance  is 
going  over — "  "  Hold  on  to  the  ropes — "  and  a  hundred 
other  things  that  seemed  still  to  ring  in  my  ears  after  the 
ambulance  had  toppled  over,  and  I  was  clinging  to  the 
covering  with  all  the  energy  of  desperation.  I  must  have 
lost  my  hold  after  a  while,  for  I  was  thrown  against  the 
ruins  of  the  bridge  with  such  violence  that  my  conscious- 
ness returned  all  in  a  moment,  and  I  clung  to  the  beams 
and  planks  until  rescued.  I  was  taken  to  a  Mexican  house, 
where  I  was  wrapped  in  the  blankets  which  the  soldiers, 
who  had  already  crossed,  carried  rolled  on  their  saddles. 
It  was  not  very  cold,  still  I  should  not  have  voluntarily 
gone  swimming  with  my  clothes  on,  just  that  day,  for  one  of 
the  three  wrecked  wagons  had  contained  my  trunks,  and 
none  of  the  other  ladies  could  have  furnished  me  with  any 
of  their  clothing,  even  had  they  known  of  my  predicament; 
for  their  trunks  were  still  on  the  other  side. 

Mohrman  had  been  left  to  keep  watch  at  my  door,  to  be 
ready  in  case  I  should  want  for  anything,  and  I  asked  him 
presently: 

"  Did  the  other  ladies  get  over  the  river  safely  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,"  was  the  grave  answer;   "only  the  escort 


Crossing  the  Rio  Grande.  75 

riding  so  close  behind  the  ambulance  splashing  so,  the 
ladies  were  wet  through,  and  the  colonel,  who  was  over 
here  when  they  came,  put  them  out  on  the  little  flat,  just, 
behind  the  bank  there,  to  dry,  and  he  has  placed  a  sentinel 
so  that  nobody  can  come  that  way  till  the  sun  has  dried 
them." 

I  could  not  help  smiling  to  think  what  two  interesting 
groups  we  formed,  the  three  ladies  "drying  in  the  sun," 
and  I  enjoying  all  the  luxury  of  a  regular  "water-cure 
pack,"  rolled  up  in  a  dozen  gray  soldier  blankets. 

From  Fort  Craig,  Company  M  proceeded  alone,  crossing 
the  Rio  Grande  once  more  before  entering  on  the  Jornada 
del  Mitcrto,  the  "Desert  of  Death."  It  was  a  long  and 
tedious  march  through  the  desert,  really  almost  a  "Journey 
of  Death,"  for  the  sun  was  fearfully  hot  and  water  scarce. 
To  be  sure  the  Rio  Grande  could  be  reached  by  turning  a 
distance  of  ten  or  twelve  miles  out  of  the  straight  line  of 
march;  but  what  the  penalty  of  such  a  rash  act  might  be,  I 
learned  as  we  neared  the  Point  of  Rocks,  a  favorite  ambush 
of  the  Indians,  for  we  were  in  the  Indian  country  now, 
since  we  had  left  Fort  Craig  behind  us. 

I  saw  a  number  of  moving  objects  as  we  approached, 
and  was  greatly  alarmed;  but  with  the  aid  of  the  captain's 
field-glass,  soon  made  them  out  to  be  a  party  of  soldiers. 
They  drew  up  in  line  when  they  saw  the  captain  approach- 
ing; perhaps  they  had  not  discovered  my  presence  in  time, 
for  before  the  sergeant  could  throw  a  blanket  over  the  cold, 
stark  form  lying  on  a  pile  of  rocks  by  the  roadside,  I  had 
already  seen  the  ghastly  face  and  mutilated  limbs  of  the 


76  Crossing  the  Rio   Grande. 

wretched  man  who  had  found  a  cruel  death  here  only  the 
day  before.  It  was  the  usual  story;  two  men  (civilians), 
mounted,  were  crossing  the  desert  together,  when,  driven 
almost  crazy  with  thirst,  they  had  attempted  to  turn  down 
to  the  river  to  fill  their  canteens,  but  were  attacked  and 
chased  for  miles  by  the  Indians;  one  man  escaped  to  Fort 
Selden,  but  the  other  fell  into  the  devils'  hands,  to  be  tor- 
tured to  death.  The  soldiers  dug  his  grave,  wrapped  him 
in  a  gray  blanket,  and  laid  him  to  rest  on  the  silent  and 
lonely  desert.  Many  such  scenes  have  I  witnessed  since; 
but  there,  by  this  stranger's  grave,  I  knelt  to  say  a  short 
prayer,  while  the  soldiers,  with  uncovered  heads,  threw  the 
last  earth  on  the  low  mound. 

We  reached  Fort  Selden  in  the  evening;  after  a  night's 
rest  we  crossed  the  Rio  Grande  there,  for  the  third  and  last 
time,  leaving  it  behind  us,  on  the  way  to  our  still  far  distant 
post. 


AN  EPISODE  OF  -FORT  DESOLATION." 


AN  EPISODE  OF  "  FORT  DESOLATION." 

"  How  much  you  resemble  Mrs.  Arnold!"  exclaimed  the 
Doctor's  wife,  after  an  hour's  acquaintance,  the  day  we 
reached  Fort  Craig.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  I  had 
heard  my  resemblance  to  this,  to  me,  unknown  lady  remarked 
on.  A  portion  of  the  regiment  of  Colored  troops  to  which 
Doctor  Kline  belonged,  and  which  we  met  on  their  way 
into  the  States,  as  we  were  coming  out,  had  been  camped 
near  us  one  night;  and  a  colored  laundress,  who  had  good- 
naturedly  come  over  to  our  tent  to  take  the  place  of  my 
girl,  who  was  sick,  had  broken  into  the  same  exclamation 
on  first  beholding  me.  Captain  Arnold  belonged  to  the 
same  regiment,  and  was  expecting,  like  all  the  Volunteers 
then  in  the  territory,  to  be  ordered  home  and  mustered  out 
of  service,  as  soon  as  the  body  of  Regular  troops  to  which 
my  husband  belonged,  could  be  assigned  their  respective 
posts.  Their  expectations  were  not  to  be  realized  for  some 
time  yet;  and  when  I  left  the  territory,  a  year  later,  a  part 
of  these  troops  were  still  on  the  frontier. 

Fort  Craig  was  not  our  destination;  to  reach  it,  we  should 
be  obliged  to  pass  through,  and  stop  for  a  day  or  two,  at 
the  very  post  of  which  Captain  Arnold  had  command — 
which  would  afford  me  excellent  and  ample  opportunity  for 
judging  of  the  asserted  likeness  between  this  lady  and  myself. 
I  must  explain  why  we  were,  in  a  measure,  compelled 


8o  An  Episode  of  "Fort  Desolation." 

to  stop  at  Fort  Desolation  (we  will  call  it  so).  It  was 
located  in  the  midst  of  a  desert — the  most  desolate  and  in- 
hospitable that  can  be  imagined — in  the  heart  of  an  Indian 
country,  and  just  so  far  removed  from  the  direct  route  across 
the  desert  as  to  make  it  impracticable  to  turn  in  there  with 
a  command,  or  a  large  number  of  soldiers;  for  which  reason, 
troops  crossing  here  always  carried  water-barrels  filled,  with 
them.  A  small  party,  however,  such  as  ours  was  then, 
could  not  with  any  safety  camp  out  the  one  night  they  must, 
despite  the  best  ambulance-mules,  pass  on  the  desert. 

With  most  pardonable  curiosity,  I  endeavored  to  learn 
something  more  of  the  woman  who  was  so  much  like  me  in 
appearance;  and  I  began  straightway  to  question  Mrs.  Kline 
about  her.  The  impression  of  a  frank,  open  character, 
which  this  lady  had  made  on  me  at  first,  vanished  at  once 
when  she  found  that  Mrs.  Arnold  was  to  be  made  the  sub- 
ject of  conversation  between  us. 

"Is  she  pretty?" 

"  Yes — quite  so."  Ahem!  and  looked  like  me.  But  my 
mother's  saying,  that  there  might  be  a  striking  resemblance 
between  a  very  handsome  and  a  very  plain  person,  presented 
itself  to  my  memory  like  an  uninvited  guest,  and  I  concluded 
not  to  fall  to  imagining  vain  things  on  so  slight  a  support. 

1 '  What  kind  of  a  man  is  Captain  Arnold  ?  ' ' 

' '  The  most  good-natured  man  in  the  world. ' ' 

"  Oh!"  Something  in  the  manner  of  her  saying  this  in 
praise  of  Captain  Arnold  made  me  think  she  wanted  to  say 
nothing  further;  so  I  stopped  questioning. 

We  left  the  doctor  and  his  wife  early  the  next  morning, 


An  Episode  of  "Fort  Desolation:'  81 

and  reached  Fort  Desolation  at  night-fall.  The  orderly  had 
preceded  us  a  short  distance,  and,  when  the  ambulance 
stopped  at  the  captain's  quarters,  Mrs.  Arnold  appeared  on 
the  threshold,  holding  a  lantern  in  her  hand.  She  raised  it 
to  let  the  light  fall  into  the  ambulance;  and  as  the  rays  fell 
on  her  own  face,  I  could  see  that  she  looked  like — a  sister  I 
had.  The  captain  was  absent,  inspecting  the  picket-posts 
he  had  established  along  the  river,  and  would  return  by 
by  morning,  Mrs.  Arnold  said;  and  she  busied  herself  with 
me  in  a  pleasant,  pretty  manner.  She  could  not  resemble 
me  in  height  and  figure,  I  said  to  myself,  for  she  was  smaller 
and  more  delicately  made;  nor  had  anyone  in  our  family 
such  deep-blue  eyes,  save  mother — we  children  had  to  con- 
tent ourselves  with  gray  ones. 

The  night  outside  was  dark  and  chilly;  but  in  the  cap- 
tain's house  there  were  light  and  warmth,  and  it  was  bright 
with  the  fires  that  burned  in  the  fireplaces  of  the  different 
rooms — all  opening  one  into  the  other.  I  was  forcibly 
struck  with  the  difference  between  the  quarters  at  Fort  Craig 
and  Mrs.  Arnold's  home  at  Fort  Desolation.  Comforts 
(luxuries  in  this  country)  of  all  kinds  made  it  attractive: 
bright  carpets  were  on  the  floors  here;  while  at  the  Doctor's 
quarters  at  Fort  Craig,  one  was  always  reminded  of  cold 
feet  and  centipedes,  when  looking  at  the  naked  adobe  floors. 
Embroidered  covers  were  spread  on  the  tables,  and  white 
coverlets  on  the  beds;  while  at  the  doctor's  all  these  things 
were  made  hideous  by  hospital-linen  and  gray  blankets. 
Easy-chairs  and  lounges,  manufactured  from  flour-barrels, 
saw-bucks  and  candle-boxes  were  made  gorgeous  and 


82  An  Episode  of  "Fort  Desolation" 

comfortable  with  red  calico  and  sheep's- wool;  but  the 
crowning  glory  of  parlor,  bed-room  and  sitting-room  was  a 
dazzling  toilet  set  of  china — gilt-edged,  and  sprinkled  with 
delicate  bouquets  of  moss  roses  and  foliage. 

"Where  did  you  get  It?  "  I  asked  in  astonishment — not 
envy. 

"Isn't  it  pretty?"  she  asked,  triumphantly.  "The 
captain's  quartermaster,  Lieutenant  Rockdale,  brought  it 
from  Santa  Fe  for  me,  and  paid  a  mint  of  money  for  it,  no 
doubt." 

At  the  supper-table  I  saw  Lieutenant  Rockdale,  who 
commanded  the  post  in  the  captain's  absence,  being  the  only 
officer  there  beside  the  captain;  and,  as  he  messed  with 
them  altogether,  I  need  not  say  that  the  table  was  well 
supplied  with  all  the  delicacies  that  New  York  and  Baltimore 
send  out  to  less  highly  favored  portions  of  the  universe,  in 
tin  cans.  Lieutenant  Rockdale  was  a  handsome  man — a 
trifle  effeminate,  perhaps,  with  languishing,  brown  eyes  and 
soft  voice.  He  seemed  delighted  with  our  visit,  and  took 
my  husband  off"  to  his  own  quarters,  while  Mrs.  Arnold  and 
I  looked  over  pictures  of  her  friends,  over  albums  and  at  all 
the  hundred  little  curiosities  which  she  had  accumulated 
while  in  the  territory.  The  cares  of  the  household  seemed 
to  sit  very  lightly  on  her;  a  negro  woman  Constantia, 
and  a  mulatto  boy  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  sharing  the  labor 
between  them.  The  boy  seemed  to  be  a  favorite  with  Mrs. 
Arnold,  though  she  tantalized  and  tormented  him,  as  I  after- 
ward found  she  tormented  and  tantalized  every  living  creature 
over  which  she  had  the  power. 


An  Episode  of  ''Fort  Desolation"  83 

I  had  noticed,  while  Constantia  and  Fred  were  clearing 
off  the  table,  that  she  had  cut  him  a  slice  from  a  very  choice 
cake,  toward  which  the  child  had  cast  longing  looks.  Plac- 
ing it  carefully  on  a  plate,  when  he  had  to  leave  it  for  a 
moment  to  do  something  his  mistress  had  bidden  him,  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye  she  had  hidden  it,  and  when  the 
boy  missed  it,  she  expressed  her  regret  at  his  carelessness, 
and  artfully  led  his  suspicions  toward  Constantia.  Hearing 
him  whimpering  and  sniffling  as  he  went  back  and  forth  be- 
tween dining-room  and  kitchen,  his  childish  distress  at 
losing  the  cake  seemed  to  afford  her  the  same  amusement 
that  a  stage-play  would,  and  she  laughed  till  the  tears 
rolled  down  her  cheeks.  Later,  he  was  summoned  to 
replenish  the  fire,  and,  knowing  the  little  darky's  aversion 
for  going  out  of  the  house  bare-headed  (he  had  an  idea 
that  his  cap  could  prevent  the  Indian  arrows  from  pene- 
trating his  skull),  she  hid  the  cap  he  had  left  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room,  and  then  laughed  immoderately  at  his  terror  on 
leaving  the  house  without  it.  The  next  morning,  she  led 
me  out  to  the  stables  to  show  me  her  horse,  a  magnificent, 
black  animal,  wild-eyed,  with  a  restless,  fretful  air.  Cross- 
ing the  space  in  front  of  the  house,  she  called  to  a  soldier 
with  sergeant- chevrons  on  his  arms,  a  man  with  just  enough 
of  Negro  blood  in  his  veins  to  stamp  him  with  the  curse  of 
his  race. 

"  Harry!"  she  called  to  him,  "  Harry,  come  hold  Black 
for  me;  I  want  to  give  him  a  piece  of  sugar."  She 
opened  her  hand  to  let  him  see  the  pieces,  and  he  touched 
his  cap  and  followed  us.  He  loosened  the  halter  and  led 


84  An  Episode  of  ' '  Fort  Desolation. ' ' 

the  horse  up  to  us,  but  the  animal  started  back  when  he 
saw  Mrs.  Arnold  and  would  not  let  her  approach  him. 
Harry  patted  his  neck  and  soothed  him,  and  Mrs.  Arnold 
holding  the  sugar  up  to  his  view,  the  horse  came  to  take  it 
from  her  hand;  but  she  quickly  clutched  his  lip  with  her 
fingers,  and  blew  into  his  face  till  the  horse  reared  and 
plunged  so  that  Harry  could  hold  him  no  longer.  Laugh- 
ing like  an  imp,  she  called  to  Harry: 

"  Get  on  him  and  hold  him,  if  you  can  not  manage  him 

in  that  way:  get  on  him  anyhow,  and  let  Mrs.  see  him 

dance." 

The  mulatto's  flashing  black  eyes  were  bent  on  her  with 
a  singularly  reproachful  look;  but  the  next  moment  he  was 
on  the  horse's  back,  the  horse  snorting  and  jumping  in  a 
perfectly  frantic  manner. 

When  Mrs.  Arnold  had  sufficiently  recovered  from  her 
merriment,  she  explained  that  the  horse  had  not  been 
ridden  for  a  month;  the  last  time  she  had  ridden  him  he 
had  thrown  her — she  had  pricked  him  with  a  pin  to  urge 
him  on  faster. 

About  noon  the  captain  arrived,  and  I  found  him,  as  Mrs. 
Kline  had  described,  '  *  the  most  good-natured  man  in  the 
world,"  and,  to  all  appearances,  loving  his  wife  with  the 
whole  of  his  big  heart.  He  was  big  in  stature,  too,  with 
broad  shoulders,  pleasant  face  and  cheerful,  ringing  voice. 
The  shaggy  dog,  who  had  slunk  away  from  Mrs.  Arnold, 
came  leaping  up  on  his  master  when  he  saw  him;  the  horse 
he  had  ridden  rubbed  his  nose  against  his  master's  shoulder 
before  turning  to  go  into  his  stable,  and  Constantia  and 


An  Episode  of  "Fort  Desolation"  85 

Fred  beamed  on  him  with  their  white  teeth  and  laughing 
eyes  from  the  kitchen  door.  Later  in  the  afternoon,  he 
asked  what  I  thought  of  his  quarters,  and  told  me  how 
hard  his  colored  soldiers  had  worked  to  build  the  really 
pretty  adobe  house  in  strict  accordance  with  his  wishes  and 
directions.  But  I  could  not  quite  decide  whether  he  was 
more  proud  of  the  house  or  of  the  affection  his  men  all  had 
for  him.  Then  he  told  me  the  story  of  almost  every  piece 
of  furniture  in  the  house,  and,  moving  from  room  to  room, 
we  came  to  where  their  bed  stood.  Resting  beside  it  was 
his  carbine,  which  the  orderly  had  brought  in.  Taking  it 
in  his  hand  to  examine  it,  he  pointed  it  at  his  wife's  head 
with  the  air  of  a  brigand,  and  uttered,  in  unearthly  tones: 

"  Your  money  or  your  life." 

With  a  quick,  cat-like  spring,  she  was  by  the  bed,  had 
thrust  her  hands  under  the  pillow  and  the  next  instant  was 
holding  two  Derringers  close  to  his  breast.  Throwing  back 
her  head,  like  a  heroine  in  velvet  trousers  on  the  stage,  she 
returned,  in  the  same  strain: 

' '  I  can  play  a  hand  at  that  game,  too,  and  go  you  one 
better!" 

She  laughed  as  she  said  it,  the  laugh  that  she  laughed 
with  her  white  teeth  clenched,  but  there  was  a  "glint"  in 
her  eye  that  I  had  never  seen  in  a  blue  eye  before. 

When  once  more  on  the  way,  my  husband  asked  me 
how  I  liked  Mrs.  Arnold.  "Very  well,"  said  I;  "  but—" 
and  I  did  not  hesitate  to  tell  him  of  the  peculiarities  I  had 
noticed  about  her.  He  himself  was  charmed  with  her 
sprightliness,  so  he  only  responded  with,  <(  Pshaw!  women!" 


86  An  Episode  of  "Fort  Desolation:' 

after  which  I  maintained  an  offended  (he  said,  offensive) 
silence  on  the  subject. 

Not  quite  four  months  later,  my  husband  was  recalled  to 
Santa  Fe",  and  we  again  crossed  the  desert,  with  only  three 
men  as  escort.  I  had  heard  nothing  from  either  Mrs. 
Arnold  or  the  captain  in  all  this  time,  for  our  post  was  far- 
ther out  than  theirs;  indeed,  so  far  out  that  nothing  belong- 
ing to  the  same  military  department  passed  by  that  way. 
It  was  midsummer  and  the  dreary  hills  shutting  in  Fort 
Desolation  and  running  down  toward  the  river  some  distance 
back  of  the  place,  were  baked  hard  and  black  in  the  sun; 
the  little  stream  that  had  meandered  along  throug  the  low 
inclosure  of  the  fort  in  winter  time,  was  now  a  mere  bed  of 
slime,  and  the  plateaux,  which  had  been  leveled  for  the  pur- 
pose of  erecting  the  captain's  house  and  the  commissary 
buildings  on  them,  could  not  boast  of  a  single  spear  of 
grass  or  any  other  sign  of  vegetation.  The  captain's 
house  lay  on  the  highest  of  these  plateaux;  lower  down, 
across  the  creek,  were  the  quartermaster  and  commissary 
buildings  (here,  too,  were  Lieutenant  Rockdale's  quarters), 
and  to  the  left,  on  the  other  side  of  the  men's  quarters,  was 
the  guard-house,  part  jacal,  part  tent-cloth. 

How  could  any  one  live  here  and  be  happy  ?  Black  and 
bald  the  earth,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach;  black  and 
dingy  the  tents  and  the  huts  that  strewed  the  flat;  murky 
and  dark  the  ridge  of  fog  that  rose  on  the  unseen  river; 
murky  and  silent  the  clefts  in  the  rocks  where  the  sun  left 
darkness  forever. 

Jt  might  have  been  the  fading  light  of  vthe  waning  day 


An  Episode  of  "Fort  Desolation."  87 

that  cast  the  peculiarly  sombre  shadow  on  the  captain's 
house  as  we  drew  up  to  it;  but  I  thought  the  same  shadow 
must  have  fallen  on  the  captain's  face,  when  he  appeared  in 
the  door  to  greet  us.  Presently  Mrs.  Arnold  fluttered  up 
in  white  muslin  and  blue  ribbons;  and  both  did  their  best  to 
make  us  comfortable.  How  my  husband  felt,  I  don't  know; 
but  they  did  not  succeed  in  making  me  feel  comfortable. 
Perhaps  the  absence  of  the  light  fire  made  the  rooms  look 
so  dark,  even  after  the  lights  had  been  brought  in,  there 
was  certainly  a  change.  Supper  was  placed  on  the  table, 
but  I  missed  Constantia's  round  face  in  the  dining-room. 
In  answer  to  my  question  regarding  her,  I  was  told  she  had 
expressed  so  strong  a  desire  to  return  to  the  states  that  she 
had  been  sent  to  Fort  Craig,  there  to  await  an  opportunity 
to  go  in.  Lieutenant  Rockdale's  absence  I  noticed  also. 
He  did  not  mess  with  them  any  more,  I  was  informed. 

My  attention  was  attracted  to  a  conversation  between 
Captain  Arnold  and  my  husband.  The  guard-house,  he 
told  him,  was  at  present  occupied  by  two  individuals  who 
had  made  their  appearance  at  Fort  Desolation  several  days 
ago,  and  tried  to  prevail  on  the  captain  to  sell  them  some  of 
the  government  horses,  and  arms  and  ammunition,  offering 
liberal  payment,  and  promising  secrecy.  They  were  Ameri- 
cans; but  as  the  number  of  American  settlers,  or  white  set- 
tlers, in  this  country  is  so  small,  it  was  easy  for  the  captain 
to  determine  that  these  were  not  of  them,  and  their  dress 
and  general  appearance  led  him  to  suspect  that  they  be- 
longed to  that  despicable  class  of  white  men  who  make 
common  cause  with  the  Indian,  in  order  to  rob  and  plunder, 


88  An  Episode  of  "Fort  Desolation" 

and,  if  need  be,  murder,  those  of  their  own  race.  Of  course 
they  had  not  made  these  proposals  directly  and  openly  to 
the  captain — at  first  representing  themselves  as  members  of 
a  party  of  miners  going  to  Pinos  Altos;  but  they  soon  be- 
trayed a  familiarity  with  the  country  which  only  years  of 
roaming  through  it  could  have  given  them.  He  had  felt  it 
his  duty  to  arrest  them  at  once,  but  had  handcuffed  them 
only  to-day,  and  meant  to  send  them,  under  strong  escort, 
to  Fort  Craig,  where  the  regimental  commander  was 
stationed,  as  soon  as  some  of  the  men  from  the  picket-posts 
could  be  called  in. 

It  was  late  when  we  arose  from  the  supper-table,  and  the 
captain  and  my  husband  left  us,  to  go  down  to  the  guard- 
house, while  Mrs.  Arnold  led  me  into  the  room  where  their 
bed  stood.  This  room  had  but  one  window,  of  which 
window  the  captain  was  very  proud;  it  was  a  French  window, 
opening  down  to  the  ground.  Throwing  it  open  Mrs. 
Arnold  said: 

"  What  a  beautiful  moon  we  have  to-night;  let  us  put  out 
the  candle  and  enjoy  the  moonshine,"  with  which  she  laugh- 
ingly extinguished  the  light,  and  drew  my  chair  to  the 
window. 

From  where  I  sat  I  could  just  see  the  men's  quarters  and 
the  guard-house,  though  it  might  have  been  difficult  from 
there  to  see  the  window.  We  had  not  been  seated  long 
when  I  fancied  I  heard  a  noise,  as  though  of  some  one 
stealthily  approaching  from  somewhere  in  the  direction  to 
which  my  back  was  turned;  then  some  one  seemed  to  brush 
or  scrape  against  the  outside  wall  of  the  house,  behind  me. 


An  Episode  of  "Fort  Desolation."  89 

"What's  that?"  I  asked,  in  quick  alarm.  It  had  not 
remained  a  secret  to  Mrs.  Arnold  that  I  was  an  unmitigated 
coward;  so  she  arose,  and  saying,  "  How  timid  you  are!— 
it  is  the  dog;  but  I  will  go  and  look,"  she  stepped  from  the 
low  window  to  the  ground  outside,  and  vanished  around 
the  corner  of  the  house.  Some  time  passed  before  she  re- 
turned, and  with  a  little  shudder,  sprang  to  light  the 
candle. 

"  How  chilly  it  is  getting,"  she  exclaimed;  and  then  con- 
tinued, "  It  was  the  dog  we  heard  out  there.  Poor  fellow; 
perhaps  the  cook  had  forgotton  him,  so  I  gave  him  his  sup- 
per. ' ' 

Rising  from  my  seat  to  close  the  window  on  her  remark 
about  the  cold,  I  stepped  to  the  opposite  side  from  where  I 
had  been  sitting;  and  there,  crossing  the  planks  that  lay 
over  the  slimy  creek,  and  going  toward  the  comissary 
buildings,  was  a  man  whose  figure  seemed  familiar;  I  could 
not  be  mistaken,  it  was  Lieutenant  Rockdale.  No  doubt 
the  man  had  a  right  to  walk  in  any  place  he  might  choose; 
but,  somehow,  I  could  not  help  bringing  him  in  connection 
with  ' '  the  dog,  poor  fellow, ' '  for  whom  Mrs.  Arnold  had 
all  at  once  felt  such  concern. 

Soon  the  gentlemen  returned,  and  we  repaired  to  the 
parlor,  where  a  game  of  chess  quickly  made  them  inaccessi- 
ble to  our  conversation.  The  game  was  interrupted  by  a 
rap  at  the  front  door,  and  Harry,  the  sergeant  whom  Mrs. 
Arnold  had  compelled  to  mount  her  black  horse  that  day, 
appeared  on  the  threshold.  In  his  face  there  was  a  change, 
too;  his  eyes  flashed  with  an  unsteady  light;  as  he  opened 


go  An  Episode  of  "Fort  Desolation." 

the  door,  and  ever  and  again,  while  addressing  the  captain 
— whose  thoughts  were  still  half  with  the  game — his  looks 
wandered  over  to  where  Mrs.  Arnold  sat.  We  were  so 
seated  that  the  captain's  back  was  partly  toward  her  when 
he  turned  to  the  sergeant;  and  he  could  not  see  the  quick 
gesture  of  impatience,  or  interrogation,  that  Mrs.  Arnold 
made  as  she  caught  the  mullato's  eye.  Involuntarily,  I 
glanced  toward  him,  and  saw  the  nod  of  assent,  or  intelli- 
gence, he  gave  in  return. 

The  seargeant  had  come  to  report  that  the  prisoners  in 
the  guard-house  had  suddenly  asked  to  see  the  captain: 
they  had  disclosures  to  make  to  him.  When  Captain 
Arnold  returned,  his  face  was  flushed. 

"The  villains!"  he  burst  out.  "They  had  managed  to 
hide  about  $5,000  in  United  States  bank-notes  about  them, 
when  they  were  searched  for  concealed  weapons,  and  they 
just  now  offered  it  to  me,  if  I  would  let  them  escape.  Not 
only  that,  but  from  something  one  of  them  said,  I  -have 
gained  the  certainty  that  they  are  implicated  in  the  massa- 
cre of  the  party  of  civilians  that  passed  through  here  about 
two  months  ago:  you  remember,  the  general  ordered  out  a 
part  of  K  Company,  to  rescue  the  one  man  who  was  sup- 
posed to  have  been  taken  prisoner.  The  wretches!  But 
I'll  go  myself,  in  the  morning,  to  relieve  the  men  from 
picket-duty,  and  select  the  best  from  among  them  to  take 
the  scoundrels  to  Santa  Fe"1 ' ' 

When  about  to  begin  my  toilet  the  next  morning,  I  gave 
a  start  of  surprise.  Was  that  what  had  made  the  house 
look  so  dark  and  changed?  Before  me  stood  a  large,  tin 


An  Episode  of  "Fort  Desolation"  91 

wash-basin — of  the  kind  that  all  common  mortals  used  out 
here — and  the  beautiful  toilet-set  of  China,  with  its  splendors 
of  gilt  edge  and  moss  roses,  had  all  disappeared,  all  save 
the  soap  dish  and  hot  water  pitcher,  which  were  both  defec- 
tive, and  looked  as  though  they  had  gone  through  a  hard 
struggle  for  existence. 

When  our  ambulance  made  the  ascent  of  the  little  steep 
hill  that  hides  Fort  Desolation  from  view,  I  saw  three  horses 
led  from  the  stable  to  the  captain's  house — the  captain's 
horse  and  two  others.  He  was  as  good  as  his  word;  and 
before  another  day  had  passed,  the  two  men  penned  up  in 
that  tent  there  would  be  well  on  their  way  to  meet  justice 
and  retribution.  A  solitary  guard,  with  ebony  face  and 
bayonet  flashing  in  the  morning  sun,  was  pacing  back  and 
forth  by  the  tent;  and  walking  briskly  from  the  commissary 
buildings  toward  the  men's  quarters,  was  Harry,  the  mu- 
latto sergeant. 

From  the  first  glance  I  had  at  Mrs.  Kline's  face,  when 
we  reached  Fort  Craig,  I  knew  that  the  mystery  of  the 
change  at  Fort  Desolation  would  be  solved  here.  Constan- 
tia  was  there,  and  acting  as  cook  in  Dr.  Kline's  family. 
She  was  an  excellent  cook,  and  we  did  ample  justice  to  her 
skill,  at  supper  time.  The  gentlemen  leaving  the  table  to 
smoke  their  cigars,  Mrs.  Kline  and  I  settled  down  to 
another  cup  of  tea  and  mZdisance.  From  what  Constantia 
had  stated  on  coming  to  Fort  Craig,  it  would  seem  that  in 
some  way  Captain  Arnold's  suspicions  had  been  aroused  in 
regard  to  the  friendship  of  Lieutenant  Rockdale  for  his  wife. 
About  two  months  ago,  he  one  day  pretended  to  start  off  on 


92  An  Episode  of  "Fort  Desolation." 

a  tour  of  inspection  to  the  picket  posts,  but  returned,  late 
the  same  night,  by  a  different  road.  Stealing  into  the 
house  through  the  kitchen,  he  had,  rather  uncermoniously, 
entered  the  bed-room,  where  he  found  Lieutenant  Rock- 
dale,  toasting  his  feet  before  the  fire.  Raising  his  carbine 
to  shoot  the  man,  Mrs.  Arnold  had  sprung  forward,  seized 
his  arm  and  torn  the  gun  from  it.  In  the  confusion  that 
followed,  the  toilet-set  referred  to,  and  other  articles  of  fur- 
niture, were  demolished;  but  Constantia,  who  had  crept 
in  after  the  captain,  to  prevent  mischief,  if  possible,  gave  it 
as  her  opinion  that  Mrs.  Arnold  "  had  grit  enough  for  ten 
such  men  as  him  an'  de  leftenant." 

"  If  you  did  but  know  the  ingratitude  of  the  creature," 
continued  Mrs.  Kline,  "and  the  devotion  of  her  husband 
has  always  shown  her!"  And  she  gave  me  a  brief  sketch 
of  her  career:  Married  to  Arnold  just  at  the  breaking  out 
of  the  war,  and  of  poor  parents,  she  had  driven  him  almost 
to  distraction  by  her  treatment  when  thrown  out  of  employ- 
ment some  time  after.  At  last  he  went  into  the  Union  forces 
as  substitute — giving  every  cent  of  the  few  hundred  dollars 
he  received  to  his  wife,  who  spent  it  on  herself  for  finery. 
Later,  when  for  bravery  and  good  conduct  he  was  made 
lieutenant  in  a  negro  regiment,  she  joined  her  husband  and 
finally  came  to  the  territory  with  him.  In  their  regiment  it 
was  well  known  that  he  always  blindly  worshiped  his  wife, 
and  that  she  had  always  ruled  him,  his  purse  and  his  com- 
pany with  absolute  power. 

Before  retiring  for  the  night  we  debated  the  question: 
Should  we  remain  the  next  day  at  Fort  Craig  or  proceed  on 


An  Episode  of  l  (  Fort  Desolation. ' J  93 

)ur  journey  ?  The  mules  needed  rest,  as  well  as  the  horses, 
or  the  quartermaster  could  not  furnish  fresh  mules  which 
ve  had  rather  expected;  still,  my  husband  was  anxious  to 
•each  Santa  Fe  as  soon  as  possible — and  we  left  the  question 
>f  our  departure  where  it  was  to  settle  it  next  morning  at 
>reakfast.  The  news  that  came  to  Fort  Craig  before  the 
lext  morning,  made  us  forget  our  journey — for  that  day,  at 
east.  Captain  Arnold  had  been  murdered!  The  big,  true- 
learted  man  was  lying  at  Fort  Desolation — dead — with  his 
)roken  eyes  staring  up  to  the  heaven  that  had  not  had  pity 
m  him — his  broad  breast  pierced  with  the  bullet  that  a 
voman's  treachery  had  sped! 

Before  daybreak  a  detachment  of  six  men  had  come  in 
rom  Fort  Desolution  to  Fort  Craig,  to  report  to  the  com- 
nander  of  their  regiment  that  Captain  Arnold  had  been 
issassinated,  and  Sergeant  Henry  Tulliver  had  deserted, 
:aking  with  him  one  horse,  two  revolvers  and  a  carbine, 
"aptain  Arnold  had  started  out  the  morning  before,  with 
)nly  two  men,  to  call  in  the  picket  posts.  An  hour  later 
:he  two  men  had  come  dashing  back  to  the  fort,  stating  that 
:hey  had  been  attackted  and  Captian  Arnold  killed  by  the 
;wo  white  men  who  had  been  confined  in  the  guard-house. 
[t  was  ascertained  then,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  prisoners 
lad  made  their  escape.  A  detachment  of  men  was  sent 
Dut  with  a  wagon  and  the  captain's  body  brought  in — the 
nen  with  their  black  faces  and  simple  hearts  gathering 
iround  it  with  tears  and  lamentations — heaping  curses  on  the 
Lilians  who  had  slain  their  kind  commander. 

Suddenly  a  rumor  had  been  spread  among   them    that 


94  An  Episode  of  ( '  Fort  Desolation. ' ' 

Harry,  the  sergeant,  had  set  the  prisoners  free,  and  instantly 
a  hundred  hoarse  voices  where  shouting  the  mulatto's 
name — a  hundred  hands  ready  to  take  the  traitor's  life. 
Vainly  Lieutenant  Rockdale — who,  after  the  captain's  de- 
parture, had  at  once  repaired  to  his  house — tried  to  check 
the  confusion  that  was  quickly  ripening  into  mutiny:  the 
excitement  only  increased,  and  soon  a  crowd  of  black 
soldiers  moved  toward  the  men's  quarters,  with  anything 
but  peaceful  intentions.  Perhaps  Harry's  conscience  had 
had  warned  him  of  what  would  come,  for  while  the  mob 
were  searching  the  quarters,  a  little  figure  sprang  over  the 
planks  across  the  creek,  ran  to  the  stables  below  the  captain's 
house,  and  the  next  moment  dashed  over  the  road  mounted 
on  a  wild-looking  black  horse. 

Could  they  but  have  reached  him — the  infuriated  men, 
who  sent  yells  and  carbine  balls  after  the  fugitive — he  would 
have  been  sacrificed  by  them  to  the  manes  of  the  murdered 
man,  and  perhaps  this  effect  had  been  calculated  on  when 
the  fact  of  his  having  loosed  the  prisoners  had  been  brought 
to  their  ears. 

1 '  How  did  it  come  to  their  ears  ?  "  I  asked  the  doctor, 
under  whose  care  one  of  the  six  men,  overcome  with  fatigue 
and  excitement  had  been  placed.  It  seems  that  Mrs.  Arnold 
had  expressed  her  conviction  of  the  Sergeant's  having 
liberated  the  prisoners,  to  Lieutenant  Rockdale,  in  little 
Fred's  hearing;  and  the  boy  had  innocently  repeated  the 
tale  to  the  men.  In  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  the 
detail  had  been  made  of  the  men  who  brought  the  news  to 
Fort  Craig,  but  when  the  detachment  had  been  only  an  hour 


An  Episode  of  ' '  Fort  Desolation. ' '  95 

or  two  on  the  way,  they  found  the  trail  of  the  escaped 
prisoners.  The  men  could  not  withstand  the  temptation 
to  make  an  effort,  at  least,  to  recapture  them.  They  knew 
them  to  be  mounted,  for  two  horses  which  Sergeant  Tulliver 
had  that  morning  separated  from  the  herd  were  missing; 
but  the  trail  they  followed  showed  the  tracks  of  three  horses, 
which  led  them  to  suppose  that  Harry  had  found  the  men 
and  joined  them. 

But  the  trail  led  farther  and  farther  from  the  road,  and 
fearing  to  be  ambushed,  they  turned  back,  leaving  the  man 
who  had  been  driven  from  the  companionship  of  his  brethern 
by  a  woman's  treachery,  to  become  one  of  the  vultures  that 
prey  on  their  own  kind. 


TOBY. 


TOBY. 

SHE  was  the  most  nervous  woman  I  ever  met.  Not 
nervous  in  the  common  acceptation  of  the  term;  she  did 
not  scold,  or  fret,  or  worry  and  lay  it  to  the  state  of  her 
nerves;  nor  was  she  fidgety,  or  cross,  or  irritable.  But  she 
would  grow  pale  at  an  unexpected  knock  at  the  door,  or 
flush  painfully  red  if  she  heard  a  quick  footstep  behind  her. 
I  have  seen  her  grasp  the  banister  for  support,  if,  looking 
down  the  stairs  into  the  hall-way,  she  discovered  a  form  not 
instantly  familiar  to  her  eye,  and  at  night,  when  she  first 
came  to  our  house,  she  used  to  beg  piteously  that  I  should 
leave  the  door  between  her  room  and  mine  open,  so  that  I 
could  rouse  her  quickly  when  her  cries  for  help  told  that 
she  was  dreaming  the  one  dream  over  and  over  again. 

We  were  as  good  friends  as  two  women  get  to  be  after  a 
six  month's  acquaintance;  she  told  me  many  things  of  her 
past  life,  but  I  felt  that  she  did  not  tell  me  all  there  was  to 
be  told.  She  said  she  abhorred  a  "woman  with  a  history," 
yet  I  knew  she  had  a  history  if  ever  woman  had.  Long 
after  we  had  parted  I  was  surprised,  one  day,  to  find  that 
she  still  thought  of  me,  nay,  she  even  missed  me.  I  give 
you  the  letter  as  I  received  it  from  her, 

You  have  often  asked  me,  dear  Delia,  what  became  of 
Toby,  the  horse    I  so  loved  in  my  ' '  cavalry  days. ' '     As 


ioo  Toby. 

often  have  I  answered  that  I  could  not  tell  you  this  without 
telling  you  at  the  same  time  a  somewhat  lengthy  story. 
Since  you  have  gone  abroad  I  have  so  missed  you  that  I 
think  I  can  best  find  time  now  to  write  what  you  always 
wanted  to  know. 

Though  I  have  an  idea  that  you  are  not  a  devoted  reader 
of  '*  Reports  and  Statistics,"  you  may  still  have  seen  or 
heard  something  of  the  <(  Personal  Narrative"  of  J.  R. 
Bartlett,  of  the  Boundary  Commission  of  the  United  States 
and  Mexican  Boundary  Survey.  The  Santa  Rita  del 
Cobre,  the  ancient  New  Mexico  copper  mine  was  selected 
for  the  headquarters  of  the  Boundary  Commission  in  1850- 
51,  and  fifteen  years  later,  in  1866,  after  the  close  of  the 
war,  the  United  States  troops  (regulars)  to  which  my 
husband  belonged,  were  sent  by  General  Carleton  to  build 
a  fort  where,  during  the  war,  a  camp  had  been  established 
by  the  California  Volunteers,  within  eight  miles  of  these 
famous  old  mines. 

It  is  one  of  the  loveliest  spots  the  sun  ever  shone  upon. 
Grand  as  well  as  lovely;  a  pleasant  valley,  the  low  green 
hills  surrounding  it  overshadowed  by  the  Mimbres  mountain 
range,  in  which  the  copper  mines  are  lying;  while  the  Sierra 
Diavolo,  holding  the  treasures  of  the  Pinos  Altos,  was  blue 
in  the  distance,  and  far  off,  like  a  misty  dream,  the  outlines 
of  the  Three  Brothers,  mountains  in  Mexican  territory,  rose 
phantom-like  against  the  horizon. 

We  had  the  clear  blue  sky  of  California  there,  but  as  I 
had  not  then  been  in  this  blessed  land  of  ours,  I  hailed  it  as 
a  boon  and  compensation  to  those  who  were  cut  oft"  from 


Toby.  i  ol 

civilization  and  home  comforts  at  a  lonely  frontier  post. 
Every  morning  seemed  to  me  a  fresh  spring  day  breaking 
over  the  camp.  Our  tents  were  comfortable,  the  com- 
missary well  supplied;  game  could  be  easily  found;  fresh 
meat  was  always  abundant,  as  we  carried  a  large  herd  of 
cattle  with  us,  and  last,  but  not  least,  the  cook  and  waiter, 
whom  we  drew  from  the  company,  were  both  faithful  and 
diligent.  The  consideration  of  commissary  supplies  may 
seem  ' '  of  the  earth,  earthy, "  to  an  ethereal  being  like 
yourself;  but  a  few  month's  residence  in  a  country 
where  Apache  Indians,  a  few  scattered  sheep-herds,  and 
fat  tarantulas  are  the  chief  agricultural  productions, 
would  effectually  cure  you  of  turning  up  your  delicate 
little  nose  at  the  contents  of  the  commissary  depart- 
ment. 

The  company  laundress  was  an  Irishwoman,  and  the  only 
white  woman  except  myself  within  a  distance  of  over  a 
hundred  miles.  Though  my  husband  was  not  commanding 
officer,  I  enjoyed  all  the  privileges,  benefits  and  amenities 
that  generally  fall  to  the  commanding  officer's  wife;  for  this 
gentleman  was  not  married,  and  I  was  the  only  lady  in 
camp.  So,  whatever  there  was  of  comfort,  convenience  or 
pleasure  to  be  found  in  or  about  this  isolated  post,  was  lav- 
ishly bestowed  upon  me,  and  all  that  could  make  life 
pleasant  or  enjoyable  was  literally  at  my  tent  door.  For,  as 
I  looked  out,  the  fair  land  lay  bathed  in  sunshine  before 
me;  the  laughing  waters  of  the  tiny  brook  that  flowed 
through  the  camp  flashed  into  my  dazzled  eyes;  the  soft 
winds  stirred  the  live  oak  by  my  tent,  and  Toby,  saddled 


lo2  Toby. 

and  bridled,  came  up  with  a  whinnied  greeting"  to  bear  me 
off  up  into  the  mountains. 

Dilapidated  mining-shafts,  covered  by  the  growth  of  half 
a  century  of  gnarled  trees  and  mountain  shrubs  were 
explored;  in  the  ravines  and  gulches  we  came  upon  old 
arastras,  and  remnants  of  habitations  of  a  later  date,  but 
moldering  and  in  ruins,  too,  with  the  skull  of  an  Indian 
unearthed  here  and  there,  and  a  half-hidden  grave  to  show 
that  the  victims  of  treachery  or  savage  ambuscade  had  been 
decently  buried  by  those  who  had  escaped  the  Indian's 
scalping  knife.  They  were  dreary  enough,  some  of  these 
places,  down  by  the  waters  of  the  little  camp-brook,  which 
here  had  turned  into  a  brawling,  rapid-running  stream, 
hemmed  in  by  steep  banks,  from  which  hung  blackberry 
vines  and  the  wild  growth  of  the  country.  Then  up  again 
a  steep  ascent,  that  taxed  all  Toby's  strength  and  agility, 
though  it  was  not  a  heavy  burden  under  which  he  labored, 
and  having  by  this  rough  pilgrimage  gained  several  miles  in 
a  "cut-off,"  the  clear  stream  that  runs  through  the  canon 
leading  to  the  copper  mines  winds  bright  and  sparkling 
before  us. 

How  Toby  loved  this  stream!  "Whitewater"  we 
called  it,  for  ' '  Coppermine  Creek  ' '  did  not  seem  pretty 
enough.  Its  bed  was  paved  with  pebbles  glistening  in  a 
thousand  different  hues, — Pescadero  and  its  pebble-beach 
could  not  have  vied  with  it  in  wealth  of  color.  The  old 
Presidio  at  the  copper  mines  was  then  invaded.  Half  fort, 
half  smelting  works,  as  it  had  been  off  and  on  since  the 
beginning  of  the  present  century,  there  could  be  found  in 


Toby.  103 

and  about  it  the  traces  of  murderous  Apache  arrows,  and 
the  rank  growth  of  the  vine  and  the  peach  tree,  planted  and 
cultivated  once  by  the  Spaniards,  later  by  Mexicans,  and 
destined  to  be  replanted  and  nurtured  by  "us  Americans." 
For  the  iron  horse  now  goes  snorting  and  shrieking  by  a 
strip  of  fair  country  which  in  those  days  lay  so  entirely 
outside  the  reach  of  civilization  that  in  my  wildest  dreams  I 
should  never  have  forseen  its  connection  with  the  rest  of  the 
world. 

Here  lunch  was  spread,  the  extensive  works  were  in- 
spected, the  enormous  piles  of  copper  gazed  at,  and  regret 
at  the  thought  that  the  grand  old  place  had  been  abandoned 
and  was  falling  into  ruins  was  uppermost  in  every  mind. 

Before  the  shadows  grew  long  we  remounted,  for  these 
mountain  canons  were  not  pleasant  in  the  gloaming,  and 
more  than  once  have  I  been  startled  by  the  trunk  of  a  tree, 
which,  with  its  turning  leaves,  looked  like  the  blanketed 
form  of  a  lurking  Apache.  On  these  occasions  Toby  was 
my  sole  reliance.  He  seemed  to  have  the  same  kind  of 
shuddering  horror  of  an  Indian  that  I  had,  and  I  think  he 
would  have  saved  me  by  his  swift  feet  without  my  ever 
drawing  rein  on  him,  and  wherever  we  dismounted  he  was 
always  beside  me.  Anywhere  near  the  water- 1  could  take 
off  his  bridle  and  let  him  go.  He  would  splash  in  the 
water,  drink  his  fill,  and  come  back.  The  saddle  always 
remained  on  him;  but,  though  he  had  no  respect  for  the 
gay  saddle-cloth  and  would  come  back  with  it  dripping,  he 
never  once  attempted  to  roll  with  the  saddle  on  him. 

There  was  something   human    in   his   affection   for   me. 


104  Toby. 

Many  a  time  did  he  stand  beside  me  while  I  poured  all  my 
trouble  and  my  fears  into  his  ear,  which  he  seemed  to  bend 
nearer  to  me,  stamping  the  ground  sometimes  as  if  to  say, 
"Too  bad!  too  bad!  Come,  let's  up  and  away." 

When  we  got  tired  exploring  the  copper  mine  region  and 
the  abandoned  shafts  lying  about  it,  we  would  wend  our 
way  in  the  direction  almost  opposite,  to  Pinos  Altos,  as  well 
known  for  its  wealth  of  gold  as  was  the  Santa  Rita  del  Cobre 
for  its  inexhaustible  treasures  of  copper.  In  former  years, 
before  the  war,  there  were  only  the  rich  placer  diggings 
worked  here,  but  now,  since  the  returning  troops  had  once 
more  given  at  least  nominal  protection  to  the  place,  there 
had  been  a  saw-mill  established,  and  many  of  the  magnifi- 
cent tall  pines  from  which  the  Mexicans  had  named  the 
place  were  being  felled  and  fed  to  the  horrid  buzzing  mon- 
ster with  the  sharp,  insatiable  teeth  that  seemed  always  cry- 
ing for  more — more! 

The  mountains  we  climbed  to  reach  the  spot  were  called 
the  Diavolo  Range,  though  I  failed  to  see  anything  about 
them  that  was  diabolical.  The  miners,  perhaps,  who  battled 
with  the  Indians  here  after  the  troops  had  been  withdrawn 
from  the  Territory  at  the  beginning  of  the  war,  may  have 
had  a  different  opinion.  To  me  the  country  seemed  very 
grand  and  beautiful — different  in  character  from  the  copper- 
mine  region,  a  little  sterner  in  feature,  I  thought,  but  the 
same  cloudless  sky  smiling  above  it,  and  the  same  deep,  un- 
broken, eternal  silence  brooding  over  it.  I  cannot  realize 
that  the  hum  and  traffic  of  a  growing  settlement  are  now 
awakening  echoes  that  have  slept  for  centuries.  Yet  they 


Toby.  105 

tell  me  that  Silver  City  has  been  established  within  ten  miles 
of  the  very  spot  that  once  looked  so  hopelessly  death-like 
and  so  deserted  to  me  in  my  despair.  For  I  was  in  despair. 
Beautiful  as  was  the  country,  pleasant  as  seemed  my  sur- 
roundings, in  spite  of  the  devotion  shown  me  by  the  soldiers 
who  composed  the  garrison,  the  repect  and  attention  of  the 
officers,  and  last,  but  not  least,  the  undivided  affection  of  my 
white  horse,  Toby,  I  was  not  only  in  despair — that  is  too 
mild  a  term — I  was  living,  day  and  night,  in  sunlight  or  dark- 
ness, in  a  state  of  terror,  fear,  and  suspence,  such  as  cannot 
be  described.  In  the  midst  of  apparent  safety  and  protection, 
death  stared  me  constantly  in  the  face — not  the  swift,  sudden 
death  that  the  Indian's  arrow  or  the  ball  of  an  assassin 
grants,  but  the  slow  tortures  with  which  the  cunning  of  the 
maniac  puts  its  victim  to  the  rack ;  for  my  husband  was  a 
madman  and  a  murderer,  and  I  was  given,  helpless  and 
without  defence,  into  his  hands. 

I  tnink  the  discovery  must  have  paralyzed  me,  for  I  can- 
not now  explain  to  myself  the  dazed,  unresisting  state  in 
which  I  remained  for  months  after  I  knew  the  whole  truth. 
Partly,  perhaps,  the  consciousness  that  I  was  thousands  of 
miles  away  from  where  help  could  reach  me  from  my  own 
people,  the  natural  reluctance  of  a  wife  to  disclose  her  misery 
and  wretchedness  to  strangers,  and  the  knowledge  of  the 
power  which  to  a  certain  degree  my  husband  possessed,  at 
least,  over  his  immediate  subordinates — all  these  consider- 
ations, a  mixture  of  fear  and  pride,  held  me  in  thrall  for 
long,  long  days,  Another  thing,  rediculous  as  it  may  seem, 
prevented  me  from  seeking  protection  at  the  hands  of  my 


to6  Toby. 

husband's  superior  officers.  Months  afterwards,  when  I  had 
at  last  made  my  escape,  one  of  the  ladies  at  Fort  Union 
asked  me: 

' '  Why  did  you  not  call  on  the  captain  for  protection  ? ' ' 
"  How  could  I  ?  "  I  asked  in  return.  "  You  see,  when- 
ever Mrs.  Mack  (that  was  our  laundress)  had  had  a  hand- 
to-hand  misunderstanding  with  her  husband,  Dennis,  over- 
night, she  always  went  to  the  captain  to  complain  of  him  in 
the  morning.  Dennis  got  three  days  in  the  gaurd- house, 
and  straightway  on  coming  out  got  drunker  than  he  had 
been  before.  Now,  I  could  not  go  and  complain  to  the  captain 
of  my  husband  as  Mrs.  Mack  did  of  hers — could  I  ?  " 

No!  But  I  would  tie  a  strip  of  flannel  around  my  throat 
and  complain  of  a  bad  cold,  in  order  to  hide  the  marks  that 
his  fingers  had  left  where  he  had  strangled  me  just  one  de- 
gree short  of  suffocation.  With  what  feeling  of  gratitude  I 
used  to  step  to  the  tent-door  in  the  morning — when  my  liege 
lord  gave  permission — to  take  one  more  look  at  the  sky 
above  me,  after  a  night  passed  waking,  in  momentary  ex- 
pectation of  a  blow  from  a  hatchet  he  had  concealed  about 
the  tent  during  the  day,  or  with  the  silent  horror  of  the  sit- 
uation growing  on  me  till  I  was  ready  to  shriek  out,  ' '  Be 
merciful!  Kill  me  at  one  blow,  or  pull  the  trigger  the  next 
time  you  hold  the  death-cold  muzzle  of  your  pistol  to  my 
head" — for  you  must  know  it  was  a  favorite  way  he  had  of 
amusing  himself.  He  would  hold  the  revolver  pressed  close 
against  my  temple  and  let  that  horrid  "  click-click  "  sound 
in  my  ears  till  I  was  fairly  numb  with  terror.  Then  he  would 
explain  to  me  in  a  low  voice  how  utterly  impossible  it  would 


Toby.  i  of 

be  for  any  help  to  reach  me  in  time  if  I  screamed  for  help; 
would  dilate  upon  the  numerous  strings  and  loops  he  himself 
had  added  to  the  fastenings  of  the  tent,  and  would  describe 
how  he  could  cut  me  into  small  bits,  and  roast  the  bits  in 
the  fire,  before  being  discovered,  if  I  ever  so  much  as  dared 
to  breathe  what  passed  in  those  quiet,  peaceful-looking 
quarters  of  ours.  For  out  tent  had  really  a  cheerful  home- 
look  about  it.  Strictly  speaking,  there  were  two  tents  set 
up  close  together  in  one,  and  the  soldiers,  in  their  solicitude 
for  my  comfort,  had  built  a  wall  some  four  feet  high  about  it, 
and  the  canvas  had  been  partly  removed  at  either  end  to 
make  room  for  a  fire-place  they  had  built  of  mud  and  stones, 
the  chimney  reaching  high  above  the  tenf.  So  that  in  reality 
we  had  two  rooms,  a  fire-place  in  each;  and  altogether  our 
quarters  were  looked  upon  as  exceedingly  fine  and  comfort- 
able, exciting  surprise  and  envy  in  the  minds  of  the  few  stray 
visitors  that  passed  through  camp. 

That  these  visitors  were  few  and  far  between  was  a  great 
blessing,  as  I  soon  found;  for  after  my  husband  had  once 
admitted  to  me  that  he  had  been  a  murderer  and  had  fled 
from  justice,  he  was  seized  with  an  insane  idea,  whenever  an 
arrival  was  announced  in  camp,  that  the  officers  of  the  law 
had  tracked  him  here  from  Texas,  where  the  crime  had  been 
commited  years  ago,  and  that  /  had  communicated  to  them 
where  he  could  be  found.  He  had  cut  a  round  opening  in 
the  top  of  the  tent  and  through  the  fly — as  if  the  space  had 
been  intended  for  the  passage  of  a  stove-pipe — and  from 
this  point  of  observation  he  could  see  the  dust  flying  up  in 
the  road  when  any  one  approached  the  camp.  Then  he 


io8  Toby. 

would  make  a  spring  at  me — as  a  tiger  springs  upon  his  prey 
— grasp  my  throat  with  both  his  murderous  hands,  aid  urge 
me  to  confess  for  whom  I  had  sent,  and  by  whom  I  had  sent 
the  message,  swearing  direst  vengeance  on  all  concerned  did 
he  did  but  discover  them.  If,  however,  the  orderly  came 
to  the  door  the  next  moment  to  announce  that  Mr.  So-and- 
so,  or  Such-a-one,  had  arrived  and  desired  to  see  the  lieu- 
tenant, this  gentleman  was  all  good  nature  and  condescension, 
sending  an  immediate  invitation  to  the  visitor  to  come  to  our 
tent,  or  going  in  person  to  meet  him.  I  had  to  smooth  my 
ruffled  feathers  then  as  best  I  might,  for  I  knew  that  the  least 
failure  to  appear  happy  and  cheerful  in  the  presence  of  the 
guest  would  be  rigorously  punished  as  soon  as  the  stranger' s 
back  was  turned. 

Oh,  the  abject,  trembling  misery  of  that  time!  Often 
when  the  captain  saw  us  as  we  left  camp  without  escort — as 
the  lieutenant  was  inclined  to  do — he  remonstrated  with  us, 
telling  my  husband  how  wrong  it  was  to  risk  my  life,  even 
if  he  chose  to  expose  his  own,  to  an  Indian  ambuscade. 
Little  did  the  kind  man  think  that  I  was  actually  praying — 
God  forgive  me! — that  an  arrow  or  a  bullet  should  come, 
quick  and  painless,  and  put  an  end  to  my  wretched  existence. 

Little,  too,  did  he  know  that  these  lonely  excursions  were 
undertaken  because  his  lieutenant  deemed  it  necessary,  or  at 
least  expedient,  to  find  a  place  of  shelter  where  he  could  hide 
— when  that  dreaded  sheriffs  posse  came  from  Texas — till 
he  could  be  supplied  by  me  with  means  and  ways  for  his 
escape.  How  is  it  possible  that  a  crazy  man  can  have  the 
sense,  or  at  least  the  cunning,  to  plan  and  prepare  every 


Toby.  109 

detail  and  particular  for  his  own  flight,  and  for  the  baffling 
of  his  pursuers?  And  yet  he  was  crazy;  for  in  the  muster 
of  arguments  that  could  be  used  for  his  defence  should  he  be 
tried  for  murder,  he  placed  his  main  reliance  on  the  fact  of 
his  having  been  for  two  years  the  inmate  of  a  Philadelphia 
lunatic  asylum. 

Not  over  three  miles  from  the  camp,  on  the  left  of  the 
road  that  comes  up  trom  the  Mimbres  River  crossing,  there 
was  a  dreary,  flat,  table-like  rock,  without  a  trace  of  verdure 
or  a  sign  of  life  about  it.  Underneath  this,  amid  broken 
stones  and  drifted  sand,  was  a  small  opening  into  which  a 
man  could  crawl,  where  there  was  a  small  cave  or  burrow. 
This  spot  he  selected;  and  here  I,  who  was  afraid  of  the  very 
darkness  itself,  was  to  come  every  night  and  bring  him  food, 
water,  and  everything  he  needed,  until  he  should  find  a 
chance  to  quit  the  country.  You  must  remember  there  was 
nothing  in  this  country  then  save  military  posts  at  long 
intervals  and  a  very  few  poverty  stricken  Mexican  towns  and 
settlements,  separated  by  hundreds  of  miles  of  waterless 
sand-deserts  and  barren  rocks,  wilh  Indians  of  different 
tribes,  but  all  alike  hostile,  sprinkled  over  the  whole  ad  lib- 
itum. And  yet  I  was  often  on  the  point  of  braving  all  those 
horrors  to  escape  the  terrors  of  my  captivity  and  torture. 
Often  when  Toby  came  whinnying  around  our  quarters,  I 
was  sorely  temped  to  cut  the  fastenings  of  the  tent  and  make 
a  bold  dash  for  liberty  or  death:  for  you  must  understand 
that  during  the  lieutenant's  absence  from  the  tent  I  was  never 
permitted  to  go  to  the  entrance  under  any  excuse.  I  might 
have  taken  an  opportunity  of  that  kind  to  appeal  for  help, 


no  Toby. 

or  send  word  of  my  wretched  condition  to  the  commanding 
officer  by  a  passing  soldier — don' t  you  see  ?  And  this  he 
was  determined  to  prevent.  Poor  Toby,  never  coralled  or 
hobbled  as  the  other  horses  were,  would  clatter  around  the 
tent  for  hours,  pawing  the  ground,  tugging  at  the  ropes  and 
scratching  at  the  entrance;  but  never  till  the  lieutenant  made 
his  appearance  was  I  permitted  to  give  him  the  lump  of 
sugar  or  other  tidbit  I  had  ready  for  him. 

Day  by  day  my  life  grew  more  intolerable,  and  .1  don't 
know  how  soon  it  might  have  been  ended,  either  by  that 
man's  hand  or  my  own,  had  he  not  finally  bethought  him 
of  a  way  in  which  I  could  perhaps  benefit  him.  He  had 
been  placed  under  arrest  for  some  trifling  neglect  of  duty 
soon  after  we  reached  camp,  and,  thongh  this  might  have 
been  all  the  more  pleasant  under  ordinary  circumstances  as 
giving  him  more  time  to  pursue  his  own  pleasure,  he  began 
to  chafe  under  this  inactivity,  and  at  last  concluded  that  it 
was  a  deep,  underhanded  plot  of  his  superior  officers  to  injure 
and  annoy  him.  If  the  conception  of  this  idea  strongly 
suggested  one  of  the  common  fancies  of  the  insane,  the 
remedy  he  concluded  to  .adopt  certainly  afforded  proof  con- 
clusive that  his  brain  was  turned.  As,  however,  I  saw  in  it 
a  possible  means  of  escape,  I  grasped  at  it  as  a  drowning  man 
grasps  at  a  straw. 

His  plan  was  this:  I  was  to  apply  to  the  commanding 
officer  for  an  ambulance  and  escort  as  far  as  Santa  Fe,  and 
there  I  was  to  lay  his  grievances  personally  before  General 
Carleton,  and  as-k  at  his  hand  redress  and  protection  for  my 
husband.  Redress  and  -protection  for  him!  The  bitter 


Toby.  in 

irony  and  humor  of  the  thing  was  not  lost  upon  me  even  in 
the  abject  state  of  mind  I  was  then  in;  but  I  took  good  care 
to  allow  no  trace  of  my  real  feelings  to  appear  upon  my  face. 

The  purpose  was  quickly  carried  out.  Next  day  the 
orderly  bore  a  note  from  me  to  the  captain,  written,  I  need 
hardly  say,  under  the  eyes  of  my  tormentor;  and  in  a  little 
while  after,  a  polite  note  from  him  assured  me  that  my  train 
would  be  ready  at  the  hour  mentioned,  the  following 
morning.  Very  gladly  had  this  kind-hearted  man  con- 
sented to  my  request;  for,  as  I  learned  later,  something  of 
the  true  condition  of  affairs  at  our  quarters  had  become 
known  to  him  through  our  orderly  and  the  cook,  and  the 
captain  felt  but  too  happy  to  grant  me  safe  escort  on  my 
way  back  to  my  friends,  which  he  thought  I  was  now 
taking. 

Women,  however,  are  the  most  foolish,  unaccountable, 
soft-hearted  idiots  in  creation.  The  night  preceding  my 
departure  was  spent  in  great  part  by  the  lieutenant  on  his 
knees,  imploring  my  forgiveness,  vowing  reform,  and 
explaining  how  it  was  only  his  great  love  for  me  that  had 
made  him  at  times  a  little  tyrannical.  Then,  the  outrageous 
treatment  under  which  he  had  been  suffering  at  the  hands  of 
his  superior  officers  had  well  nigh  driven  him  mad,  he  said. 
To  be  sure,  I  had  seen  nothing  of  this  '  *  outrageous  treat- 
ment," except  that  Uncle  Sam  paid  his  salary  as  regularly 
as  that  of  the  other  officers;  that  the  commissary  supplied 
him  with  the  best  there  was;  that  his  brother  officers 
showed  him  all  the  courtesy  he  allowed  them  to,  and  that 
his  time  was  entirely  at  his  own  disposal.  Only  in  one 


ii2  Toby. 

direction  had  any  restraint  been  used.  The  commissary 
elerk  had  been  restricted  to  a  certain  quantity  of  com- 
missary whisky  to  be  issued  to  him.  To  this  restriction  I 
think  I  owe  my  life.  A  madman  pure  and  simple  is  bad 
enough,  in  all  conscience;  but  let  this  same  madman  intoxi- 
cate himself  with  liquor,  and  a  demon  would  blush  to  own 
him  for  a  brother.  I  know  whereof  I  speak. 

At  last  the  morning  dawned.  The  ambulance  stood  at 
the  door;  our  orderly  was  seated  beside  the  driver;  six 
mounted  men  and  a  sergeant  had  been  detailed  as  escort. 
Much  as  I  had  begged,  the  lieutenant  had  not  allowed  Toby 
to  accompany  me;  the  Indians  would  see  me  if  I  rode 
Toby,  whereas  they  would  never  know  that  a  woman  was 
inside  the  ambulance.  The  captain,  who  came  to  take 
leave  of  me,  said  my  husband  was  right,  that  the  escort  was 
not  large  and  that  it  would  be  like  tempting  Providence — 
and  the  Indians — for  me  to  ride  through  the  country  on 
horseback. 

Toby,  poor  fellow,  had  been  confined  in  the  corral,  and 
his  whinnies  grew  first  rebellious  and  then  heart-breaking, 
as,  dragging  at  his  chain  and  wildly  pawing  the  ground,  he 
saw  the  train  moving  out  and  leaving  him  behind.  My 
heart  smote  me  at  the  horse's  cries,  for  they  were  cries,  if 
it  was  only  a  horse;  but  the  lieutenant  had  got  into  the 
ambulance  with  me,  to  go  as  far  as  the  limits  of  the  post, 
and  was  giving  me  his  parting  instructions  and  making  his 
parting  promises  of  repentance  and  reform,  and  I  did  not 
even  dare  to  express  my  grief  at  leaving  my  dear,  devoted 
friend.  Pinkow,  the  orderly,  for  whom  the  lieutenant  had 


Toby,  113* 

obtained  the  captain's  permission  to  accompany  me  all  the 
way  to  Santa  Fe"  and  back,  sat  beside  the  driver  of  the 
ambulance,  as  I  said,  while  the  lieutenant  and  I  sat  in  the 
seat  behind.  My  mounted  escort  was  to  return  when  we 
reached  a  post  where  a  fresh  escort  could  be  conveniently 
furnished,  either  at  Fort  Cummings,  Fort  Selden  of  Fort 
Craig.  Fort  McRea,  but  lately  established  at  a  distance  of 
a  mile  or  two  from  the  Rio  Grande,  and  to  be  reached  only 
by  turning  aside  some  eight  or  nine  miles  from  the  straight 
road  across  the  much  dreaded  Jornada  del  Muerto,  had  no 
soldiers  to  spare.  There  had  been  a  line  of  picket  posts 
established  near  the  river,  to  protect  from  the  ever-lurking 
Apache  those  coming  here  for  water,  on  their  weary  journey 
or  prospecting  tour,  and  it  required  all  the  men  they  had  to 
keep  the  Indians  in  check  and  afford  the  necessary  pro- 
tection. But  the  captain  felt  confident  that  at  either  of  the 
other  posts  I  could  exchange  my  escort  and  draw  fresh 
mules  for  the  ambulance. 

Hardly  had  the  lieutenant  left  the  ambulance  and  vanished 
from  sight  when  Pinkow  turned  in  his  seat  and  laced  me 
with  an  eager,  questioning  look  in  his  eyes.  I  was  startled 
by  the  man's  sudden  movement,  and  asked  in  some  alarm: 

"What  is  it,  Pinkow?" 

"Thank  God!"  he  cried,  with  a  great  sigh  of  relief. 
"You  are  free,  madam.  I  have  counted  the  moments 
since  the  lieutenant  came  into  the  ambulance  with  you, 
dreading  that  he  would  change  his  mind  at  the  last  minute 
and  drag  you  back  to  that  horrid  tent,  to  murder  you  at  his 
leisure." 


H4  Toby. 

"  Why — Pinkow—  '  I  protested,  "  the  lieutenant — " 
' ' — is  my  commanding  officer  and  has  detailed  me  to  wait 
on  you,  with  secret  instructions  to  bring  you  back  from 
Santa  Fe"  dead  or  alive.  Alive,  if  possible;  dead,  should 
you  refuse  to  return  of  your  own  free  will  to  the  prison  he 
has  prepared  for  you.  Do  you  think,  madam,  that  because 
your  silent,  uncomplaining  endurance  of  the  lieutenant's 
tyranny  was  honored  by  the  captain  and  the  other  officers, 
it  is  not  known  at  headquarters  ?  And  in  the  company 
there  is  not  a  man  who  has  forgotten  your  courage  and 
kindness  on  the  long  march  out  here.  All  these  men  here 
will  go  into  Santa  Fe"  with  you  if  you  but  say  the  word, 
and  once  under  the  general's  protection  the  lieutenant  can 
never  more  approach  nor  harm  you.  The  captain,  though 
not  advised  of  your  intention,  feels  convinced  that  you  will 
never  return  to  our  camp  or  the  lieutenant  again.  I  have 
his  orders  to  see  that  everything  you  may  need  on  your 
journey  in,  whether  undertaken  with  a  military  escort  or  on 
the  overland  stage,  be  furnished  you;  though  indeed  the 
general  himself  will  see  to  that,  and  the  captain  also  thinks 
that  some  of  the  other  officer's  wives  are  at  Fort  Marcy 
(Santa  F6)  at  present." 

"  But,  Pinkow,"  I  remonstrated,  tremblingly,  "I  prom- 
ised to  come  back;  he  will  come  after  me  if  I  break  my 
promise;  I  know  he  will,  and  kill  me  wherever  he  finds 
me." 

' '  Do  you  suppose  the  captain  will  give  him  permission  to 
leave  camp  to  follow  you  ?  Not  while  he  thinks  that  you 
will  seize  upon  this  opportunity  to  make  your  escape.  He 


Toby.  115 

is  under  the  firm  impression  that  you  are  anxious  to  get  out 
of  that  madman's  clutches,  and  would  be  surprised  if  he 
heard  that  you  had  conscientious  scruples  about  breaking 
your  word  with  him.  Do  you  know,"  he  continued,  in  a 
lowered  voice,  ' '  that  he  is  a  condemmed  criminal,  that  he 
escaped  the  gallows  only  by  flight,  and  lives  in  hourly 
dread  of  being  recognized  and  handed  over  to  the  civil 
authorities  by  his  brother  officers  ?  And  to  such  a  man's 
power  you  would  return  ?  ' ' 

1 '  It  will  break  his  heart  if  I  go  and  leave  him  in  his 
trouble,"  I  cried,  thinking  of  his  parting  appeals  and 
promises.  "He  is  not  bad,  Pinkow;  he  was  young  and 
hot-headed  when  that  man  in  Texas  enraged  him,  and  he 
shot  him  in  a  fit  of  passion,  It  has  been  kept  secret  so 
long;  why  raise  up  that  dread  ghost  now  ?  And  think  of 
Toby,  I  should  never  see  Toby  again,  and  you  heard  how 
he  cried.  I  must  go  back,  Pinkow,  oh,  I  must  go  back ! ' ' 
and  I  burst  into  tears. 

It  was  not  so  much  the  recollection  of  the  horse  that 
made  me  cry — my  nerves  were  suddenly  unstrung;  the 
prospect  of  life  and  liberty  before  me  was  overpowering;  I 
feared  to  give  room  to  the  flattering  hope  that  tried  to  take 
possession  of  me.  It  looked  so  utterly  impossible  that  I 
could  really  become  free  once  more;  that  I  could  ever  again 
breathe  without  fear  and  dread,  as  other  people  did. 

"That  is  just  what  the  lieutenant  counted  on,"  pursued 
Pinkow;  "  he  knows  how  you  love  the  horse,  and  told  me 
to  insinuate  to  you,  in  case  you  should  refuse  to  come  back, 
that  I  thought  he  would  beat  and  starve  the  poor  brute  to 


ii6  Toby. 

death.  I  do  not  doubt  that  he  would  if  he  got  the  chance, 
but  I  have  posted  both  the  captain  and  the  men,  and  they 
would  look  after  Toby  for  your  sake,  if  not  for  his  own." 

The  farther  away  I  got  from  the  post,  the  higher  my 
spirits  rose.  I  dried  my  tears  at  last  and  asked  the  faithful 
fellow  if  he  really  and  truly  thought  I  could  get  away  and 
reach  my  friends  in  safety.  He  made  it  appear  so  plain 
that  it  depended  on  my  own  wish  alone,  that  I  began  to 
breathe  more  freely,  and  at  last  said: 

11  Be  it  so;  I  will  at  least  try  for  my  life." 

Then  I  made  him  promise  to  say  nothing  of  my  intention 
till  I  had  reached  Santa  Fe,  partly  because  my  pride 
rebelled  against  being  looked  upon  as  a  runaway  wife,  and 
partly  because  I  so  dreaded  my  husband's  pursuit  that  I  felt 
as  if  a  word  spoken  aloud  might  be  carried  back  to  him  on 
the  passing  breeze. 

Once  determined  on  gaining  my  freedom,  I  could  not 
travel  fast  enough.  I  urged  the  driver  to  hurry  his  mules 
to  the  utmost,  telling  him  I  was  anxious  to  reach  Fort  Cum- 
mings  before  nightfall.  Though  I  gave  no  hint  of  my  real 
intentions,  I  felt  that  he,  as  well  as  the  soldiers  of  the 
escort,  knew  why  I  hurried  them;  and  all  through  the  day 
we  traveled  briskly  over  that  silent  and  desolate  portion  of 
the  country  where  the  Southern  Pacific  now  runs  its  daily 
trains.  Not  a  human  soul  did  we  meet;  a  herd  of  antelope 
came  scudding  down  the  broad  valley  of  the  Mimbres 
River  while  we  were  passing  through;  and  in  the  mountains, 
toward  where  the  copper  mines  lay,  one  of  the  soldiers  sud- 
denly spied  a  thin,  blue  column  of  smoke  arising.  The 


Toby.  i i 7 

sergeant  grew  alarmed  for  my  safety,  and  asked  whether  I 
preferred  turning  back  to  the  post,  as  there  was  no  doubt 
that  the  Indians  had  discovered  us  and  were  communicating 
our  presence  on  the  road  to  some  distant  portion  of  their 
tribe.  But  the  sun  was  still  riding  high  in  the  heavens,  and 
I  felt  that  I  would  rather  brave  death  out  here,  under  the 
blue  sky,  than  encounter  it  in  the  gloomy  darkness  of  that 
dreadful  tent.  So  I  told  the  sergeant  to  keep  on,  asking  if 
there  were  an  extra  revolver  I  could  have.  Pinkow  had 
prepared  for  everything,  and  a  neat  deringer  proved  to  me 
that  the  captain  had  been  consulted  on  this  point,  too. 
Then  we  hastened  on,  stopping  only  long  enough  at  the 
crossing  of  the  Mimbres  River  to  refresh  the  horses  and 
mules,  and  at  nightfall  we  entered  the  rocky  canon  which 
takes  its  name  from  the  spring  that  has  gladdened  the  heart 
of  many  a  weary  traveler  on  this  road.  Cook's  Canon  has 
an  unpleasant  sound  in  connection  with  Apache  reminis- 
cences, and  even  the  spring,  a  large,  square  sheet  of  water, 
surrounded  by  a  low,  hand-built  wall  of  rock,  looked  black 
and  inhospitable  in  the  darkening  night. 

The  commanding  officer  of  Fort  Cummings  received  and 
entertained  me  with  all  possible  kindness,  saying  it  was  not 
surprise  to  him  that  a  lady  should  grow  weary  of  the  soli- 
tude and  hardships  of  camp  life.  But  I  hastened  to  explain 
that  indeed,  indeed,  I  was  not  tired  of  living  in  camp;  that 
I  was  only  going  to  Santa  F£  to  urge  General  Carlton  to 
grant  my  husband  an  early  trial  by  court-martial,  as  he 
wished  to  be  restored  to  duty,  and  that  I  intended  returning 
without  delay  as  soon  as  my  object  was  accomplished. 


n8  Toby. 

Whether  he  believed  me  or  not,  I  don't  know;  but  he 
offered  me  fresh  mules  for  my  ambulance  and  an  exchange 
of  escort  when  I  refused  to  remain  the  next  day  and  rest 
before  continuing  my  hard  journey.  I  declined  both  offers, 
from  an  insane  fear  that  the  very  mules  in  the  ambnlance 
might  have  caught  a  whisper  of  the  word  "  Flight." 

The  first  day's  journey  had  really  not  been  a  severe  one, 
and  I  felt  that  it  was  neither  cruel  nor  selfish  to  order  an 
early  start  the  next  morning.  We  had  nearly  sixty  miles 
before  us,  and  no  water  to  be  had  till  we  struck  the  Rio 
Grande;  but  I  did  not  want  to  carry  water-kegs  till  it  was 
absolutely  necessary;  we  would  have  to  come  to  that  soon 
enough. 

I  had  no  eyes  for  scenery  or  surroundings.  Magdalena 
Pass  was  to  me  only  something  to  be  hurried  through  in 
order  to  reach  a  place  of  safety,  as  I  felt  Fort  Selden  would 
be  to  a  certain  degree,  for  I  knew  that  I  should  find  a  lady 
there — an  old  friend  she  seemed  to  me,  for  we  had  met  at 
Carlisle  Barracks,  and  her  husband,  like  mine,  belonged  to 
the  Third.  He  was  commanding  officer  at  the  time,  Cap- 
tain Tilford  having  not  yet  arrived  in  the  territory.  And 
this  lady  I  had  determined  to  take  into  my  confidence. 
Good,  warm-hearted  woman!  How  she  wept  over  me  and 
deplored  the  vanishing  of  all  my  hopes  and  illusions! 
We  had  been  so  happy  together  at  Carlisle — I  had  looked 
so  hopefully  and  fearlessly  into  the  future! 

A  plucky  little  woman  she  was,  too;  and  she  declared 
that  if  my  tormentor  should  really  evade  the  vigilance  of 
the  officers  at  our  camp,  she  would  never  allow  him  to  pass 


Toby.  119 

through  theirs.  He  was  under  arrest  and  had  no  right  to 
leave  camp,  and  a  transport  of  soldiers  should  carry  him 
back  to  Fort  Bayard  if  necessary  by  force,  she  vowed.  We 
deemed  it  best  to  send  back  the  escort  from  here,  and  the 
sergeant  of  my  new  escort  was  instructed  as  far  as  necessary 
by  the  post  commander.  This  escort  was  to  remain  with 
me  till  I  reached  Santa  Fe";  there  were  no  married  officers  at 
any  other  post  between  here  and  Santa  F6,  except  at  Fort 
McRea,  and  I  shrank  from  making  the  necessary  explana- 
tion to  any  but  a  woman,  while  I  knew  they  could  spare  no 
soldiers  from  the  last-named  post.  Having  fresh  mules  I 
could  start  early  in  the  morning,  and,  kindly  as  I  had  been 
treated,  tenderly  as  I  had  been  cared  for,  I  was  eager  to 
shake  the  dust  of  Fort  Selden  from  my  feet. 

It  was  a  terrible  day's  journey  we  had  before  us.  No 
soldier  who  has  ever  crossed  the  dreary,  hopeless  stretch  of 
ninety-five  miles,  where  neither  water  nor  shade  can  be 
found,  called  the  Jornauda  del  Muerto,  speaks  of  it  without 
a  shudder.  A  scorching  sun  above,  a  barren  waste  be- 
neath; a  chain  of  dull  brown  mountains  on  the  right,  a  ridge 
of  low  hills  far  to  the  left.  Thus  the  road  winds,  drearily, 
silently,  changelessly  along.  Hour  after  hour  you  gaze 
upon  this  blank,  vast  monotone,  never  daring  to  hope  that 
one  bright  spot  may  greet  the  eye,  but  dreading  ever  that 
the  brooding  stillness  of  the  heavy  air  be  rent  in  sudden 
horror  by  the  Indian's  savage  cry.  Oh,  the  long,  slow 
hours  that  dragged  their  leaden  wings  across  this  waste! 
To  me,  there  were  twin  demons  lurking  in  every  isolated 
clump  of  lance-weed  that  we  passed.  Where  the  men  looked 


1 20  Toby. 

for  only  one  enemy,  I  feared  two — the  Indian's  painted  vis- 
age was  not  more  dreaded  by  me  than  the  diabolical  smile 
I  had  seen  on  that  madman's  face.  And  I  could  not  shake 
off  the  feeling  that  he  was  pursuing  me — that  he  was  even 
now  on  the  road  I  had  just  passed  over. 

Though  it  was  still  daylight  when  we  turned  off  from  the 
direct  line  across  the  desert  into  the  road  that  leads  to  Fort 
McRea,  it  was  nearly  dark  when  we  reached  this  desolate 
post;  and  the  uninviting  features  of  the  spot  looked  still 
more  repulsive  in  the  heavy  gloom  of  the  coming  night. 
The  captain's  wife  was  extremely  kind  to  me.  Captain 
Horn  — of  the  volunteers — himself  was  absent  at  one  of  the 
picket-posts  on  the  river  I  spoke  of  before.  There  was  a 
band  of  white  marauders  making  the  country  unsafe  at  that 
time,  which  was  as  much  to  be  dreaded  as  the  red  Indians; 
and  therefore  these  pickets  by  the  river  were  constantly 
inspected  personally  by  the  captain. 

The  next  day's  journey  was  a  short  one,  and  we  reached 
Fort  Craig  while  it  was  yet  day-light.  I  am  unable  to 
explain  why  it  was  that  a  volunteer  officer,  Colonel  Gerhart, 
was  in  command  of  this  post  at  that  time,  though  to  be  sure 
it  was  months  before  the  volunteer  forces  in  the  territory 
were  everywhere  replaced  by  regular  troops.  Doctor  Day 
also  belonged  to  the  volunteers,  and  his  wife  had  the  coziest 
quarters  in  all  this  large  fort.  The  colonel,  young  and  full 
of  life,  called  at  the  doctor's  quarters  and  grew  enthusiastic 
over  the  prospect  of  the  pleasant  day  we  should  all  pass  to- 
gether to-morrow,  Sunday.  The  tire  had  come  off  the 
ambulance  wheel,  and  he  was  rejoiced  to  say  that  there  was 


Toby.  121 

not  another  ambulance  at  the  post  that  could  be  got  ready  in 
less  than  forty-eight  hours'  time. 

I  felt  the  color  leaving  my  face  at  this  disclosure,  but 
hoped  it  might  only  be  a  pleasant  little  ruse  of  the  colonel's, 
when  suddenly  Pinkow's  woe-begone  countenance  appeared 
at  the  door  to  report  that  the  blacksmith  had  pronounced 
the  wheel  in  urgent  need  of  a  soaking,  or  a  scraping,  or 
some  other  like  attention — I  have  forgotten  what,  but  I 
knew  we  could  not  proceed  in  that  ambulance.  I  sat  dumb 
with  dismay,  and  I  fear  the  colonel  thought  me  very  dull 
and  stupid.  I  spent  a  restless  night,  was  up  by  six  o'clock, 
and  summoned  Pinkow. 

"Pinkow,"  I  said  "we  must  go  on.  All  last  night  I 
dreamed  of  the  lieutenant;  he  had  overtaken  us,  and  every- 
where around  me  was  blood — blood.  I  am  going  on;  if 
here  is  no  ambulance  to  be  had  they  can  give  me  a  horse, 
or  I  will  ride  one  of  the  ambulance  mules.  Somehow,  I 
feel  that  the  lieutenant  knows  by  this  time  that  I  mean  to 
escape,  and  if  he  catches  up  with  us  now  he  will  kill  me 
sure." 

Pinkow  could  have  replied  that  even  if  one  of  the  "L" 
Company  soldiers  had  known  of  my  design  he  could  not 
have  yet  imparted  it  to  the  lieutenant  h  ad  he  been  so  inclined, 
as  the  escort  was  to  rest  for  two  days  at  For  t  Selden ;  and  the 
probabilities  were  all  against  any  of  the  soldiers  playing 
traitor  toward  me.  But  the  poor  fellow  was  himself  so 
thoroughly  impressed  with  the  unhesitating  wickedness  of 
the  gentleman  in  question,  that  he  believed  him  capable  of 
all  sorts  of  unheard-of  deeds. 


122  Toby. 

"You  are  right,  madam,"  he  said;  "and  I  was  only 
afraid  they  would  pursuade  you  to  stay.  I  have  discovered 
that  the  post  sutler  has  a  very  handsome  ambulance,  more 
like  a  carriage,  but  very  strong.  If  we  could  get  that." 

The  sutler  was  known  to  me  by  reputation  as  a  well-bred 
man,  one  of  the  prominent  men  of  the  territory,  a  personal 
friend  of  the  general ;  and  when  I  had  at  last  prevailed  upon 
the  colonel  to  ask  for  his  carriage,  of  course  it  was  gladly 
given.  Nevertheless,  it  was  eleven  o'clock  before  we  could 
set  out  on  our  journey,  and  we  had  agreed  in  the  council 
held  that  I  should  stop  at  San  Antonio,  where  a  discharged 
soldier  kept  the  government  station.  Doctor  Day  said  I 
looked  as  if  I  needed  rest,  and  Mrs.  Day,  dear  soul !  packed 
me  a  splendid  lunch — which  my  soldiers  relished  exceed- 
ingly. 

For  my  part  the  anxiety  I  had  undergone  since  the  pre- 
vious night,  the  fear  of  being  delayed  one  whole  day,  had 
completely  prostrated  me  with  nervous  headache,  and  all 
through  that  blowing,  blustering  autumn  day  I  lay  back 
half  unconscious  in  the  cushioned  seat  of  the  ambulance. 
I  had  tenaciously  clung  to  my  Fort  Selden  escort,  though 
the  colonel  had  wanted  to  replace  them  with  men  from  his 
own  command.  I  knew  that  Sergeant  McBeth  had  been 
made  acquainted  to  a  certain  extent  with  the  real  object  of 
my  hasty  journey,  and  he  seemed  to  be  such  a  manly,  kind- 
hearted  young  follow  that  I  felt  great  reliance  on  him. 
They  were  all  good  men.  Indeed,  who  ever  heard  of  an 
unworthy  act  on  the  part  of  a  soldier,  whether  he  wear 
bullion  epaulettes  or  the  coarse  cloth  of  the  rank  and  file  ? 


Toby.  123 

When  we  reached  the  station  at  San  Antonio,  Pinkow 
and  Sergeant  Brown,  who  kept  the  station,  an  elderly 
bronze-faced  man,  lifted  me  out  of  the  ambulance  and  helped 
me  into  the  house.  It  was  an  adobe  built  in  the  regular 
frontier  New  Mexican  style — the  house  the  base  of  a  hollow 
square,  high  adobe  walls  forming  the  other  three  sides,  with 
a  heavy  gate  opposite  the  house,  and  never  a  door  or  a 
window  to  be  seen  on  the  outside  of  the  entire  structure. 
The  court-yard  was  bare  of  foliage,  flower,  or  fountain,  such 
as  are  sometimes  found  in  the  habitations  of  the  wealthier 
residents  along  the  Rio  Grande.  But  the  interior  of  the 
house  was  kept  faultlessly  neat,  as  might  be  expected 
of  an  old  soldier  like  the  sergeant.  A  number  of  very 
comfortable  beds  were  -kept  for  the  officers  and  their 
families  who  passed  by  this  place  at  long  intervals;  and  on 
the  most  comfortable  of  these  beds  I  threw  myself,  without 
removing  any  article  of  my  clothing  for  fear  of  being  unable 
to  replace  it  in  the  morning — I  was  so  completely  exhausted, 
so  thoroughly  convinced  that  I  was  pursued,  and  so  firmly 
determined  to  continue  my  journey  at  daylight. 

I  remember  well  that  good  Sergeant  Brown  brought 
broiled  chicken  to  my  bedside — an  unheard-of  luxury — and 
tea,  and  the  sweetest  kind  of  Mexican  bread.  In  one 
corner  of  the  room  was  a  queer,  triangular  little  fire-place, 
and  in  the  grate  was  burning  a  bright  fire  of  coal  brought 
up  from  the  bowels  of  the  Soledad  Mountain,  in  whose 
somber  shadow  we  had  but  yesterday  been  traveling. 

Day  had  hardly  dawned,  when  Pinkow  knocked  at  my 
door  to  know  if  I  was  able  to  resume  the  journey.  I 


1 24  Toby. 

convinced  him  of  my  determination  by  ordering  a  cup  of 
coffee  and  the  ambulance,  which,  to  satisfy  me,  was  at  once 
dragged  out  of  the  court-yard  and  left  in  front  of  the  open 
gate  where  I  could  see  it.  The  mules  had  not  yet  been  fed, 
and  I  actually  scolded  Pinkow  for  being  so  tardy.  I  said  he 
wanted  to  see  me  murdered  right  there;  I  knew  the  Lieu- 
tenant was  close  on  our  heels.  The  good-natured  fellow 
protested — not  against  my  injustice,  but  against  my  wearing 
myself  out  with  unnecessary  fears. 

' '  They  will  not  allow  him  to  pass  any  of  the  posts, ' '  he 
said,  "for  they  all  know  he  is  under  arrest;  and  where  else 
could  he  find  anything  for  himself,  his  escort,  or  his  animals 
to  subsist  on  ?  " 

But  who  ever  succeeded  in  reasoning  a  woman  out  of  her 
determination  to  be  afraid  ?  So  I  clambered  into  the  ambu- 
lance, bade  Pinkow  fasten  back  the  curtains,  and  looked  out 
upon  the  dreary  scene.  Truth  to  tell,  I  was  more  dead  than 
alive,  and  nothing  save  the  most  absolute  terror  could  have 
given  me  strength  to  venture  out  in  the  bleak,  raw  blustering 
morning. 

San  Antonio  was  more  name  than  habitation  at  that  time. 
The  two  or  three  wretched  adobe  houses  that  made  up  the 
place  were  a  fitting  relief  to  the  dry,  barren  country.  Slug- 
gish, gray,  and  sullen,  the  Rio  Grande  passed  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  spot;  and  while  I  lay  back  in  the  cushions, 
peering  anxiously  in  all  directions  that  my  eye  could  reach, 
a  strange  cortege  came  slowly  gliding  down  the  stream. 
Was  it  the  funeral  barge  of  Lily  Maid  Elaine  drifting  across 
the  River  Usk  of  Mexico?  Ah,  no!  Something  sadder  far 


Toby.  125 

than  this.  The  Indians  in  making  another  raid  on  a  large 
herd  of  sheep  had  killed  the  herder  and  driven  off  the  sheep, 
and  this  was  the  funeral  procession.  His  mother,  a  widow, 
had  crossed  the  stream  the  night  before,  and  was  now  bringing 
back  with  her  the  body  of  the  murdered  man — her  only  son. 

The  sight  struck  a  chill  to  my  heart,  and  I  turned  to  Pin- 
kow,  who  was  hovering  near. 

"A  terrible  omen  that,"  I  cried.  "Oh,  Pinkow,  if  we 
were  only  safe  in  Santa  Fe,  I  should  tell  the  general  all  I 
have  suffered,  and  I  know  he  will  protect  me.  Why  don't 
we  start?  "  I  asked  in  conclusion,  trying  to  raise  myself  to 
look  back  into  the  court. 

Sergeant  Brown  was  just  crossing  it  with  a  lunch  for  me, 
and  the  mules  were  led  up  to  the  ambulance  at  the  same 
time,  while  the  escort  prepared  to  mount. 

A  cold  wind  swept  over  the  hard  ground,  whirling  up 
small  clouds  of  sand  and  red  adobe  dust,  and  a  dull  gray  sky 
made  everything  around  look  inexpressibly  dreary.  There 
was  something  heavy  and  oppressive  in  the  atmosphere  in 
spite  of  the  keen  air,  and  the  falling  in  line  of  the  escort 
reminded  me  of  the  military  funerals  I  had  seen.  Sergeant 
Brown  lent  a  hand  while  the  driver  was  putting  in  the  mules, 
and  when  they  were  ready  he  wished  me  a  last  "good-bye." 
His  hand  was  still  raised  to  his  cap,  when,  as  the  ambulance 
felt  the  first  impetus  of  the  straining  mules,  one  of  the 
springs  snapped,  and  the  whole  cavalcade  was  thrown  into 
momentary  confusion.  Pinkow  was  on  the  ground  in  an 
instant,  and  the  driver  had  just  reined  in  his  frightened  mules, 
when  a  commotion  among  the  escort,  a  low  exclamation 


126  Toby. 

from  Pinkow,  caused  me  to  turn  my  eyes  in  the  direction  to 
which  they  all  pointed. 

A  horseman,  indeed  a  stranger  of  any  kind,  was  an  unusual 
sight  here  in  those  days;  but  the  sight  of  this  horseman 
turned  my  heart  to  stone,  and  paralyzed  every  nerve  in  my 
body. 

"  The  lieutenant!  "  said  Pinkow,  faintly;  and  involuntarily 
Sergeant  McBeth  urged  his  horse  closer  up  to  my  ambu- 
lance. 

I  did  not  not  faint,  but  there  was  a  blank  of  several  minutes 
in  my  memory,  and  then  I  heard  a  hissing  whisper  close  to 
my  ear. 

"So  you  tried  to  get  away  from  me,  did  you?  But  you 
see  I  have  overtaken  you,  and  alive  you  will  never  get  away 
from  me  again.  Don't  scream  or  call  on  those  men  for 
help — I  have  two  revolvers  with  me.  I  would  kill  them  all, 
and  then  tie  you  to  Toby's  tail  and  let  him  drag  you  to 
death.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

There  must  have  been  something  death-like  in  my  wide- 
open  eyes,  for  he  bent  over  me  with  sudden  apprehension; 
but  I  had  heard  him.  Every  word  of  his  had  burned  itself 
into  my  brain  as  with  a  searing-iron.  The  words  are  there 
to  this  day — the  Lord  help  me! — and  I  answered,  hardly 
above  a  breath: 

11 1  hear  you." 

Not  that  I  wanted  to  whisper  or  speak  in  a  low  tone.  I 
could  not  have  spoken  a  loud  word  if  my  life  had  depended 
on  it,  as  perhaps  it  might. 

"Come  back  into  the  house  with  me,"  he  said  in  a  louder 


Toby.  127 

tone;  "lam  hungry  and  tired;  neither  Toby  nor  I  have 
had  rest  or  food  since  leaving  camp,  except  what  we  could 
get  at  a  Mexican  ranch  back  there.  I  knew  that  they 
would  keep  me  back  at  the  posts,  in  order  to  give  you  a 
good  start."  He  lowered  his  voice  again,  and  his  strong 
yellow  teeth  gleamed  viciously  behind  his  drawn  lips.  His 
hollow  eyes  were  burning  with  the  fire  of  madness,  arid 
strands  of  long,  uncut  hair  were  hanging  wildly  about  his 
face.  He  laid  his  talon-like  hand  on  my  arm. 

"  Come,"  he  continued  aloud;  "  we  shall  not  be  able  to 
go  from  here  to-day;  the  ambulance  will  need  an  overhaul- 
ing. Come  into  the  house  with  me." 

"Never!"  I  said,  speaking  low,  and  trying  to  speak 
firmly.  ( '  Kill  me  right  here,  if  you  want  to — I  shall  not 
go  into  the  house  with  you." 

' '  Then  you  insist  upon  bloodshed  and  open  disgrace. ' ' 
He  spoke  close  to  my  ear  again.  ' '  Remember  that  I 
promised  to  reform,  and  that  you  promised  to  be  patient 
with  me  and  aid  me.  Is  this  what  your  promise  is  worth  ? 
You  want  to  deliver  me  into  the  hands  of  my  enemies — to 
see  me  wronged  and  murdered.  Come  with  me  and  I  will 
forgive  you." 

He  to  forgive  me! 

' '  But  refuse  and  I  will  kill  you  and  the  rest  here  on  this 
spot." 

And  he  raised  me  from  my  reclining  posture  and  lifted 
me  from  the  ambulance  to  the  ground. 

Pinkow  stood  by,  pale  and  motionless  with  suspense,  but 
Sergeant  McBeth  had  dismounted  and  stepped  up  to  me. 


1*28  Toby. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  touching  his  cap,  "the  damage  to' 
the  ambulance  can  be  repaired  in  half  an  hour's  time;  you 
need  not  even  alight,  for  we  shall  not  take  the  mules  out  at 
all." 

"  Have  the  mules  taken  out,  sergeant,"  the  lieutenant 
interposed  sharply,  "  and.let  your  men  dismount.  My  wife 
will  not  continue  her  journey  to-day." 

But  the  sergeant  approached  still  nearer,  and  with  an 
inclination  of  the  head  replied  as  sharply: 

"  My  instructions  are  to  obey  madam's  orders  and  I  see 
none  of  my  superior  officers  here  who  could  countermand 
the  order.  As  soon  as  madam  signifies  her  wishes,  I  shall 
hold  my  men  in  readiness  to  carry  out  her  commands." 

Every  man  of  the  escort  had  dismounted,  and  they  stood 
clustered  about  me  as  if  ready  and  eager  to  carry  out  any 
order  I  might  give.  I  saw  an  appealing  look  in  Pinkow's 
eye,  and  noted  the  gleam  of  hate  and  fury  that  flashed  on 
him  from  the  lieutenant's  blood-shot  orbs,  while  with  a 
quick  movement  he  threw  back  the  old  soldier  overcoat  he 
had  on  and  displayed  the  shoulder-straps  on  the  cavalry 
jacket  he  wore  under  it.  But  even  now  the  gallant  sergeant 
would  not  submit. 

' '  Your  orders,  madam  ?  "  he  asked  with  eager  eyes  and 
glowing  cheeks. 

"I  have  none  to  give,  sergeant,"  I  replied  sadly,  "except 
that  you  take  the  best  care  of  the  outfit  in  your  command. 
I  thank  you  and  the  men  for  their  attention  and  obedience, 
and  I  want  them  all  to  have  a  rest  after  their  long  journey." 

"  Stand  aside,  sergeant,"  the  lieutenant  said  harshly;   "  I 


Toby.  129 

will  now  take  charge  of  the  command,  and  herewith  relieve 
you  of  all  further  responsibility.  You  will  consider  yourself 
under  orders  to  me." 

He  gave  me  his  arm  and  led  me  back  into  the  court- yard, 
where,  somehow,  all  the  escort  had  collected,  and  again  I 
was  reminded  of  a  military  funeral  as  I  passed  through  the 
file  of  sober-faced,  heavily  armed  men. 

Entering  the  low  door  which  I  had  left  but  an  hour  ago 
forever,  as  I  thought,  I  turned  my  head  wistfully  back,  and 
there,  at  the  foot  of  the  court-yard,  near  the  gate,  stood 
sergeant  McBeth,  the  wind  blowing  about  the  folds  of  his 
short  soldier's  cape,  his  hand  resting  on  the  hilt  of  his  cav- 
alry saber,  and  his  eyes  following  me  with  a  questioning, 
pitying  look.  Sergeant  Brown  stood  gravely  holding  the 
door  open  for  us,  offering  the  lieutenant  a  military  salute; 
but  I  vainly  sought  Pinkow  with  a  last,  despairing  look. 

Suddenly  his  voice  came,  rough  and  broken,  from  the 
open  gate  of  the  court- yard. 

"  Madam,"  he  cried  in  evident  distress,  "madam — oh!  it 
is  too  late.  Toby  is  here,  but — ' ' 

Toby!  True,  had  I  not  seen  him  totter  under  the  lieu- 
tenant's cruel  spurring  when  he  was  urging  him  up  to  the 
ambulance  a  while  ago  ?  Swiftly  and  with  sudden  strength 
I  snatched  my  hand  out  of  the  lieutenant's  encircling 
fingers  and  was  flying  back  across  the  yard  and  outside, 
where  I  saw  Pinkow  leaning,  sobbing  against  Toby's  neck. 
The  animal  was  trembling  in  every  limb,  but  when  he  spied 
me  a  low  whinny  struck  my  ear,  and  he  moved  forward  a 
step  to  reach  my  side.  I  rushed  toward  him,  but  before  I 


130  Toby. 

could  reach  him  he  had  tottered  and  fallen  at  my  very  feet, 
with  a  deep,  almost  human  groan. 

I  cried  out  with  grief  and  knelt  by  his  side,  stroking  his 
white,  silky  mane  and  trying  to  bed  his  shapely  head  in  my 
lap.  But  his  eyes  broke  even  while  I  was  caressing  him, 
and  I  bent  over  the  faithful,  long-suffering  animal,  and  my 
tears  fell  hot  and  fast — tears  as  honest  and  sincere  as  any  I 
ever  shed  for  a  human  being. 


FLIGHT. 


FLIGHT. 

A    SEQUEL    TO    "TOBY." 

LET  me  confess,  dear  Delia,  that,  next  to  a  woman  with 
a  history,  I  abhor  a  woman  who  faints;  though  my  own  ex- 
perience has  been  that  we  cannot  in  all  cases  escape  either 
the  one  affliction  or  the  other,  no  matter  how  hard  we  try. 

I  know,  at  least,  that  when  Toby  had  drawn  his  last  breath, 
I  tried  my  best  not  to  succumb  to  the  numbness  I  felt  creep- 
ing over  all  my  senses  after  the  first  storm  of  grief  had  passed. 
But  I  can  not  remember,  for  the  life  of  me,  how  I  got  back 
to  Sergeant  Brown's  adobe  house.  The  first  thing  I  re- 
member was  the  lieutenant's  haggard  face  bending  over  me, 
and  most  unexpectedly  his  protestations  of  affection,  repent- 
ance, and  reform  were  as  profuse  as  they  had  been  on  the 
night  preceding  my  departure  from  Fort  Bayard.  He 
needed  my  sympathy  he  said,  and  my  aid;  for  we  must  now 
proceed  to  Santa  Fe";  it  was  almost  a  matter  of  life  and 
death  with  him,  an  officer  under  arrest,  to  escape  from  camp 
and  venture  directly  into  the  lion's  den — the  Commanding 
General' s  headquarters. 

I  was  to  assist  him  in  denouncing  to  the  general  the  con- 
stant and  systematic  annoyance  and  persecution  to  which  he 
had  been  subjected  by  the  other  officers  at  the  fort,  and 
which  had  driven  him  to  this  step  at  last.  To  retort  that  I 


134  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toty." 

had  seen  and  known  nothing  of  these  annoyances  and  per- 
secutions would  have  been  of  no  benefit  to  me  or  the  gentle- 
men in  question;  whereas,  the  prospect  of  going  to  Santa 
F£  instead  of  returning  to  Fort  Bayard  held  out  at  least  a 
faint  hope  for  me.  So  on  toward  Santa  F6  we  proceeded 
the  next  day;  and  no  devoted  lover,  no  model  husband, 
could  have  been  more  attentive  and  affectionate.  The 
trouble  was  that  he  was  too  attentive;  so  completely  en- 
veloping me,  as  it  were,  that  not  even  to  Pinkow  could  I 
speak  a  word,  either  in  public  or  in  private. 

From  Albuquerque  the  lieutenant  was  wise  enough  to 
send  back  the  escort;  it  would  hardly  have  been  advisable 
to  enter  the  presence  of  the  district  commander  with  flying 
colors.  As  it  was,  the  ambulance  alone  attracted  immedi- 
ate attention  as  it  rolled  through  the  narrow,  crooked  streets 
of  Santa  F6;  and  we  had  barely  entered  the  dAfonda  near 
the  plaza,  when  an  orderly  of  the  general's  came  to  inquire 
what  officer  had  arrived,  and  on  what  business  ?  The  lieu- 
tenant's trepidation  was  plain  to  me,  though  he  forced  him- 
self to  an  air  of  bravado.  Of  course,  he  could  keep  me 
locked  up  in  the  close,  low  room  with  him,  but  he  could 
keep  neither  Pinkow  or  the  ambulance-driver  there.  I 
trembled  lest  a  word  of  my  trouble  or  attempted  flight 
should  escape  them,  for  I  knew  they  could  do  nothing  to 
help  me  under  existing  circumstances,  and  knew  that  I 
should  feel  the  effects  of  the  lieutenant's  wrath  sooner  or 
later,  no  matter  how  honeyed  was  every  word  he  spoke  to 
me  now. 

Not  an  hour  had  passed  till  the  general  sent  back   his 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby."  135 

orderly  to  request  the  lieutenant  to  report,  at  once,  to  the 
general  in  person.  He  hastened  to  obey,  locking  the  room- 
door  on  the  outside,  and  taking  the  key  with  him — a  pro- 
ceeding at  which  I  was  not  even  surprised.  But  in  a 
moment  he  returned,  his  eyes  aflame,  his  face  purple  with 
suppressed  rage. 

' '  Put  on  your  bonnet,  and  come  with  me, ' '  he  said. 

"To  the  general's?"  I  asked,  in  astonishment.  "But 
that  is  impossible;  he  has  ordered  you  to  report  to  him — he 
will  think  me  crazy  to  come  with  you." 

"Do   as  I  say, ' '  he  insisted,  and  to  hear  was  to  obey. 

In  five  minutes  I  was  ready;  and  in  passing  out  through 
the  principal  entrance  of  the  fonda,  which  was  reading-room, 
lounging-place,  and  hall  in  one,  I  suddenly  comprehended 
the  reason  of  the  lieutenant's  dragging  me  with  him. 
Colonel  Lane,  one  of  the  most  highly-esteemed  officers  of 
the  Third,  came  up  to  shake  hands  with  me,  regretting  that 
Mrs.  Lane  had  not  come  with  him  to  Santa  Fe*  (they  were 
stationed  at  Fort  Union)  but  consoling  me  with  the  informa- 
tion that  Mrs.  Suttorins,  the  wife  of  the  adjutant,  was  here, 
and  one  or  two  other  ladies  of  the  Third. 

General  Carleton  was  too  well-bred  a  man  to  let  me  feel 
the  awkwardness  of  my  position.  I  thought  I  could  read 
in  his  eyes  that  Pinkow  had  been  talking  (indeed,  I  felt  that 
that  also  was  the  way  to  account  for  the  colonel's  presence 
at  \hefonda);  and  in  his  kindliest  tones  he  inquired  whether 
I  was  on  my  way  into  the  States:  adding  that  the  overland 
stage  left  \hefonda  every  morning  at  seven;  but  by  stopping 
a  week  or  two  with  the  ladies,  at  Fort  Union,  he  thought 


136  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby." 

he  could  promise  to  send  me  in  with  a  military  outfit.  I 
trembled  when  I  looked  up  at  the  lieutenant's  face;  but  he 
controlled  himself  so  far  as  merely  to  answer  in  my  place: 

"No,  general,  madam  is  not  going  in;  she  is  going  to 
remain  with  me." 

As  we  rose  to  go,  the  general  detained  the  lieutenant  a 
moment,  saying  to  him,  half  aloud: 

' '  Lieutenant,  you  will  return  to  your  station  at  once  and 
report  to  the  commanding  officer,  under  arrest.  The  cap- 
tain will  receive  further  instructions  from  me. ' ' 

The  shades  of  night  were  already  falling,  as  we  left  the 
general's  quarters.  The  colonel  was  still  standing  at  the 
door  of  ihefvnda,  but  after  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  detain 
the  lieutenant  in  conversation,  I  saw  him  wend  his  way 
toward  headquarters,  as  I  half  turned  my  head  on  entering 
the  house.  The  lieutenant  ordered  supper  in  the  room, 
bidding  me  hasten  to  retire  after  supper,  as  we  should  have 
to  be  up  and  away  before  daylight  in  the  morning.  I 
clenched  my  hands  in  dumb  despair  as  I  listened,  but  did 
not  dare  to  answer  a  word.  Just  then  a  hubbub  arose  at 
the  door.  I  raised  my  head,  and  the  lieutenant  silently  laid 
his  revolver  on  the  table  beside  him.  But  they  were  only 
light  knocks  resounding  at  the  door,  and  women's  voices 
and  laughter  reassured  the  lieutenant  so  far  that  he  opened 
the  door  to  admit  the  adjutant  and  his  wife,  Mrs.  Lieutenant 
Ennis,  Colonel  Lane  and  one  or  two  other  officers.  The 
gentlemen  at  once  surrounded  the  lieutenant;  and  Mrs. 
Suttorins,  approaching  to  greet  me,  whispered  in  my  ear: 

' '  Come  home  with  me — I  must  see  you  alone. ' ' 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby"  137 

I  grasped  her  hand,  but  already  the  lieutenant's  eyes 
were  fastened  on  me,  in  spite  of  the  friendly  demonstrations 
of  the  visitors  to  absorb  his  attention.  Conversation  be- 
came general  for  a  little  while,  and  Mrs.  Ennis,  with  perfect 
sangfroid,  exclaimed  suddenly,  to  me: 

•'  Oh!  Before  I  forget,  I  want  you  to  deliver  a  confiden- 
tial message  from  me  to  Mrs.  Captain  Home.  But  the 
gentlemen  must  not  hear  it,"  she  continued,  laughing — 
"they  talk  too  much.  Come  out  into  the  corridor  with 
me." 

But  the  lieutenant  stood  beside  her  in  a  moment,  laying  a 
detaining  hand  on  her  arm. 

V  You  will  have  to  excuse  my  wife  from  going  into  the 
cold  with  you;  she  is  not  well,  and  much  fatigued.  And 
besides,  we  shall  hardly  see  Mrs.  Home,  as  we  do  not 
intend  to  stop  at  McRea,  but  shall  camp  out  on  the 
Jornada. ' ' 

There  was  an  uneasy  movement  among  the  gentlemen;  I 
noticed  that  one  of  them  put  his  hand  into  his  breast- 
pocket, and  Colonel  Lane — bless  his  kind  heart — sent  a 
long  inquiring  look  over  to  me.  But  I  felt  the  lieutenant's 
basilisk  eye  fixed  on  me,  and  I  did  not  dare  to  raise  mine. 
Neither  of  the  ladies  were  allowed  to  approach  me,  on 
taking  leave,  and  I  saw  my  friends  and  would-be  preservers 
depart  from  that  low,  gloomy  room  with  the  feeling  of  the 
condemned  prisoner,  who  takes  leave  of  his  last  earthly 
ties. 

Months  later,  when  I  met  them  all  again  at  Fort  Union, 
they  blamed  me  for  the  passive  submission  to  a  man  who 


138  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby." 

was  a  coward  at  heart,  though  a  bully  in  behavior.  Ah, 
yes;  that  was  easy  enough  said,  but  they  had  never  stood 
in  my  shoes.  The  gentlemen  had  all  been  armed  that  night 
at  the  fonda,  knowing  so  much  of  the  circumstances  as 
Pinkow  could  relate,  and  fully  appreciating  what  manner  of 
man  they  might  have  to  deal  with.  But  not  a  word  or  a 
sign  from  me  told  them  that  I  wanted  their  help,  and  how 
could  they  interfere  without  or  against  my  wish  and  desire  ? 

We  did  not  start  as  early  the  next  morning  as  the  lieu- 
tenant had  said  we  should.  Indeed,  we  staid  long  enough 
for  me  to  hear  the  call  of  the  postilion-horn,  as  the  overland 
stage  stood  ready  to  start  at  the  door  of  the  fonda,  and  oh, 
how  the  notes  tore  my  heart!  Then  the  ambulance  came 
and  I  climbed  in,  leaving  all  hope  behind. 

And  I  was  right  to  leave  all  hope  behind.  I  had  never 
believed  that  the  lieutenant's  repentance  and  conversion 
were  sincere,  in  spite  of  his  demonstrations  and  protestations 
and  I  soon  had  proof  of  it.  During  the  few  hours  of  our 
stay  at  Santa  Fe",  Pinkow,  who  perhaps  thought  it  policy, 
on  my  account,  to  regain  the  lieutenant's  favor,  had,  some- 
how or  somewhere,  managed  to  capture  a  dog,  a  splendid, 
long-haired  hunting-dog.  He  said  a  soldier  had  given  the 
dog  to  him,  and  I  really  don't  think  Pinkow  would  have 
fc  pressed  "  the  dog  if  he  had  not  fancied  the  animal  might 
serve  as  a  lightning-rod  to  divert  the  storm  from  my  poor 
head  occasionally.  If  such  was  his  intention,  he  succeeded 
at  once. 

When  we  started,  the  dog  stood  apparently  in  high  favor; 
he  was  taken  into  the  ambulance,  where  he  crouched  down 


Flight:    A  Sequel  to  "Toby."  139 

at  my  feet,  and  would  lick  my  hand  whenever  I  stroked  his 
hair  or  patted  his  head.  I  stopped  caressing  him  when  I 
saw  the  lieutenant's  face  commence  to  darken,  fearing  that 
perhaps  it  offended  him.  It  was  of  no  avail,  however;  the 
dog  was  thrust  out  of  the  ambulance  at  the  first  opportunity, 
but  the  lieutenant's  humor  did  not  improve.  Pinkow  cast 
uneasy  glances,  now  at  the  lieutenant,  now  at  the  poor  dog, 
who  seemed  bewildered  and  more  than  half  inclined  to  turn 
back  to  Santa  Fe.  Pinkow  whistled  to  him,  but  the  lieu- 
tenant bade  the  driver  stop  the  ambulance,  sprang  quickly 
out,  called  the  dog  to  him,  held  him  down  with  one  hand 
while  he  drew  his  revolver  with  the  other,  and  reversing  the 
weapon  had  beaten  the  struggling  animal's  brains  out 
before  I  fairly  knew  what  he  was  about. 

"I'll  teach  you  to  try  and  get  away  from  me,"  he 
shouted  in  mad  fury,  and  pointing  to  the  quivering  body  of 
the  brute,  he  called  out  to  me:  "  That  is  the  way  I  serve  all 
runaways,"  and  then  quietly  proceeded  to  rub  his  hands 
clean  in  the  dust  of  the  road,  before  re-entering  the 
ambulance. 

I  sat  in  speechless  horror,  for  I  knew  now  what  I  had  to 
expect.  Oh!  why  had  I  not  cast  all  fear  and  false  shame 
aside,  and  seized  the  helping  hands  held  out  to  me  in  Santa 
Fe?  But  regret  was  unavailing,  and  afraid  almost  to 
breathe,  for  fear  of  exciting  my  tyrant's  displeasure,  I  rode 
on  through  the  long,  dreary  day,  hardly  daring  to  lift  my 
eyes  to  the  gray  sky,  but  unconsciously  trying  to  count  the 
rain-drops  that  came  slowly  drizzling  down  from  there. 
This  day  was  but  a  precursor  of  many  similar  ones. 


140  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby." 

Wherever  he  could,  the  lieutenant  avoided  stopping  at  the 
military  posts,  making  night-journeys  whenever  it  was 
possible,  and  camping  out,  passing  through  the  forts  during 
the  day,  remaining  only  long  enough  to  draw  forage  and 
rations,  and  hurrying  on  under  the  excuse  of  the  General's 
orders  to  report  to  his  post-commander  as  soon  as  possible. 

Perhaps  it  was  well  for  me  that  he  so  hurried  by  the 
posts,  for  the  surprise  that  was  more  implied  than  expressed 
on  seeing  me  return,  gave  me  anything  but  a  comfortable 
feeling  in  my  tyrant's  presence.  Not  till  we  reached  Fort 
Craig  did  he  ask  for  escort:  two  men  were  furnished  him — 
or  rather  me;  for  I  really  do  not  think  that  any  one  would 
have  cried  much  whether  the  Indians  got  the  lieutenant  or 
not. 

My  friend  at  Fort  Seldon  fairly  trembled  when  she  came 
to  the  ambulance  to  greet  me;  it  was  not  fear  that  shook 
her,  it  was  rage  that  flashed  from  her  eyes,  and  in  very 
ungracious  tones  she  addressed  the  lieutenant: 

' '  I  think  you  are  trying  to  kill  your  wife,  hurrying  her 
through  the  post  like  this.  Come  out  and  rest  with  me  a 
day  or  two — "  she  turned  to  me — "my  husband  will  see 
you  safe  to  Fort  Bayard,  whenever  you  want  to  go  there." 

"  My  wife  goes  there  with  me,"  the  lieutenant  replied  in 
my  stead,  "and  I  must  ask  you  to  permit  us  to  proceed; 
we  wish  to  get  through  Magdalena  Pass  before  night." 

"  But  you  will  have  to  wait  till  my  husband's  return," 
she  persisted;  "he  has  gone  to  Dona  Ana,  and  may  be 
back  in  an  hour  or  two." 

"  I  have  no  orders  to  that  effect,"  the  lieutenant  retorted; 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "  Tofy."  141 

* '  my  instructions  are  to  report  to  the  post-commander,  at 
Fort  Bayard,  as  soon  as  possible. ' ' 

Perhaps  the  most  puzzled  of  all  was  this  same  post- com- 
mander, when  he  discovered  that  I  had  returned,  together 
with  my  tormentor.  All  circumstances  considered,  it  was 
only  proper  that  he  should  not  call  to  greet  me  on  our 
arrival,  but  he  immediately  sent  his  servant  to  me  with 
supper  and  compliments.  My  husband  had  reported  to 
him  at  once,  had  been  ordered  not  to  leave  his  quarters 
without  special  permission,  and  late  at  night  the  captain 
sent  an  orderly  to  demand  his  side-arms.  The  lieutenant 
was  furious,  but  I  knew  what  it  meant,  though  the  future 
proved  that  all  the  captain's  efforts  to  insure  safety  to  me 
were  futile. 

For  a  day  or  two  he  seemed  cowed;  but,  unfortunately, 
one  of  his  men,  mistaking  his  quiet  bearing  for  reform,  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  persuaded  into  having  the  lieutenant's 
two-gallon  keg  filled  with  whisky  at  Pinos  Altos.  The  poor 
fellow  went  to  the  guard-house,  where  he  had  time  to  repent 
of  his  mistaken  kindness;  but  the  lieutenant  enacted  such 
scenes  that  a  guard  was  placed  at  our  quarters,  ostensibly 
for  the  purpose  of  preventing  the  lieutenant  from  leaving 
tent,  in  reality  to  protect  me  from  his  murderous  attacks. 
So  day  and  night  I  heard  the  passing  of  the  sentinel,  up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  by  the  side  of  the  tent.  A  bright  fire 
blazed  all  night  in  front  of  it,  and  when  the  relief  came  I 
could  hear  them  exchange  a  few  low  words  with  each  other, 
as  they  stood  for  a  moment  warming  their  hands  at  the 
flames.  But  even  this  proved  no  protection;  and  though 


142  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby." 

his  side-arms  had  been  removed,  the  Lieutenant  found  no 
difficulty  in  obtaining  access  to  the  tool-chest  of  the  com- 
pany carpenter,  and  a  hatchet  is  as  formidable  a  weapon,  in 
the  hands  of  a  crazy  man,  as  a  pistol  or  revolver. 

One  day  a  great  excitement  took  possession  of  the  Lieu- 
tenant. He  had  learned  that  General  Alexander,  (brothe- 
in-law  of  the  late  General  Upton)  formerly  of  the  Third,  but 
just  then  transferred  to  the  Eighth,  was  coming  as  Military 
Inspector  to  the  camp.  After  a  few  preliminary  admoni- 
tions, that  he  would  kill  me  in  the  most  frightful  manner, 
should  he  discover  that  I  had  sent  to  him  to  come  with  the 
sheriff  from  Texas,  he  settled  down  to  a  persistent  watching 
of  the  General's  every  step  in  camp.  The  little  round 
opening  in  the  roof  of  the  tent  was  hardly  ever  unoccupied 
now,  and  woe  to  me  did  ever  the  General  and  the  Captain, 
as  it  sometimes  happened,  approach  the  vicinity  of  our  tent. 
It  was  /  who  had  called  them  there;  they  were  spying  out 
the  best  way  to  cut  into  the  canvas  of  the  tent,  to  let  the 
sheriff  in  on  him;  but  I  should  be  made  to  die  a  thousand 
deaths,  he  said,  before  they  should  take  him  away. 

I  sat  by,  silent,  trembling,  and  hopeless.  I  had  given  up 
all  thought  of  escape,  and  was  fast  sinking  into  a  state  of 
utter  helplessness.  Pinkow  was  allowed  to  come  into  the 
tent  to  assist  me  in  cooking,  though  he  had  originally  been 
our  orderly,  and  Richard  our  cook.  But  the  Lieutenant 
grew  so  morose  that  the  men  all  feared  him,  and  Richard, 
who  with  Pinkow  had  built  their  little  tent  close  beside  ours, 
much  to  the  lieutenant's  disgust,  was  allowed  to  attend  to  the 
lieutenant's  horse,  while  Pinkow  attended  to  our  commissary 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby."  143 

supplies,  and  brought  the  mail  to  our  quarters  when  the 
mail-rider  came  in.  The  letters  I  wrote  to  my  friends  were 
short  and  unsatisfactory,  to  me,  at  least;  for  I  could  write 
only  under  my  prison-keeper's  eye.  He  read  every  word 
of  what  I  wrote,  and  then  sometimes  tore  the  letters  up  be- 
fore my  face,  saying  he  had  detected  a  hidden  meaning  in 
the  lines;  and  sometimes  following  Pinkow  to  the  door  of 
the  tent  and  destroying  them,  without  my  knowledge.  Nor 
did  I  receive  all  the  letters  intended  for  me;  but  I  knew  that 
my  friends  were  now  all  in  California  with  the  exception  of 
one  brother. 

Before  the  inspector  had  left,  the  lieutenant  had  been  noti- 
fied of  the  convening  of  the  court-martial  at  Fort  Bayard, 
during  the  early  part  of  the  following  week;  and  with  it 
another  fruitful  source  of  excitement  for  the  lieutenant,  of 
threats  and  violence  for  myself,  was  established.  His  time 
was  now  spent  between  watching  the  arrival  of  the  convey- 
ances bringing  in  the  officers  from  the  different  posts,  and 
heaping  choice  and  various  curses  on  their  heads.  I  knew 
that  the  sitting  of  the  court-martial  would  be  as  much,  and 
more,  of  a  trial  for  me  than  for  the  lieutenant;  for  at  the 
very  worst  his  judges  could  not  and  would  not  take  his  life, 
while  the  preservation  of  mine  would  be  highly  problem- 
atical. 

The  very  first  session  proved  that  my  theory  was  correct. 
The  fact  alone  of  his  being  led  to  the  tent  where  the  officers 
held  their  sittings,  under  guard,  was  sufficient  to  arouse  his 
ire;  but  there  was  another  circumstance  which  enraged  him 
far  more  than  this.  With  his  characteristic  cunning  he  had 


144  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby." 

closely  watched  the  proceedings,  in  order  to  find  the  least 
loop-hole  by  which  he  could  escape  his  sentence,  and  he 
was  just  exulting  because  an  oversight  in  the  initial  steps 
gave  him  the  hope  that  he  could  overthrow  the  whole  pro- 
ceedings of  the  court,  when  Quinton  Campbell,  junior  lieu- 
tenant of  the  Fifth  Infantry,  called  the  attention  of  the 
others  to  the  error  they  were  about  to  commit,  or  the  form 
they  were  about  to  omit.  I  think  Lieutenant  Campbell 
must  have  seen  in  the  crafty  face  of  the  man  they  were  about 
to  try,  the  quick  gleam  of  malice  and  satisfaction  which  an- 
nounced that  he  had  fastened  on  something  of  which  he 
could  take  advantage.  The  oaths  he  heaped  on  the  devoted 
head  of  the  junior  lieutenant  when  he  returned  to  the  tent 
were  fearful,  and  the  threats  of  vengeance  he  uttered  against 
one  and  all  of  the  officers  assembled,  showed  him  to  be 
either  a  fiend  or  a  coward.  I  think  he  was  both.  That  I 
did  not  sleep  on  roses  that  night,  I  need  hardly  say;  for  with 
all  his  rage  there  was  mingled  that  fear  that  now,  since  he 
could  not  constantly  guard  me  in  the  tent,  I  might  pluck  up 
courage  enough  some  day  to  make  another  attempt  at  es- 
cape: and  I  did — but  not  until  I  had  been  frightened  and 
tortured  almost  into  madness. 

The  session  of  the  court  generally  lasted  from  ten  or  eleven 
till  three  or  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Pinkow,  as  I 
said,  was  my  aid  and  assistant  in  house-keeping;  and  after 
the  lieutenant  and  I  had  taken  dinner,  Pinkow  always  had 
his  dinner  in  the  tent,  and  then  proceeded  to  clear  off  the 
table,  wash  dishes,  and  restore  order  in  the  kitchen  depart- 
ment generally.  One  day  the  lieutenant  returned  home 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby."  145 

earlier  than  usual,  and  more  frantically  mad  than  ever. 
Since  he  could  not  watch  me  while  he  was  at  the  trial,  I 
sometimes  ventured  to  the  door  of  the  tent — but  never  out- 
side; I  did  not  dare  to  disobey  orders  so  far.  This  day  I 
had  stood  at  the  door  full  two  minutes,  looking  up  at  the 
clear  sky,  and  drinking  in  the  beauty  of  God's  creation. 
After  dinner  was  over  the  lieutenant  ordered  Pinkow  to 
"pack  all  the  stuff  over  to  his  own  tent,  or  throw  it  away; 
he  wanted  it  no  more."  Pinkow' s  eyes  flew  over  to  me 
involuntarily;  he  knew  the  signs  of  a  coming  storm  as  well 
as  I.  Then  the  tent  was  closed  at  once,  and  to  my  horror 
the  lieutenant  drew  a  hatchet  out  from  under  the  mattress 
of  the  bed,  where  he  must  have  concealed  it  while  Pinkow 
was  ' '  packing  out  the  stuff. ' ' 

"  Kneel  down,"  he  commanded,  "and  fold  your  hands. 
I  am  going  to  cut  your  head  open." 

I  knelt  down,  but  in  that  short  moment  my  whole  life 
passed  before  me,  and  mother's  face  and  the  picture  of  the 
blue  sky  and  the  bright  land  I  had  seen  only  that  morning 
rose  up  before  me  with  strange  vividness.  Why  had  I  not 
escaped  that  very  morning  ?  Why  had  I  not  fled  from  the 
camp  alone  and  unobserved,  and  run  till  I  had  reached  a 
hiding-place  or  dropped  dead  in  my  tracks  ?  I  would,  if  I 
ever  again  should  see  the  light  of  day,  I  vowed  in  my  heart; 
no  fear,  no  pride  should  ever  deter  me  again.  All  this  time 
I  was  kneeling  before  him,  my  own  hands  folded,  while  one 
of  his  spanned  my  throat  and  the  other  held  the  hatchet 
above  me.  I  knew  there  was  no  use  resisting,  so  I  fell  at 
last  into  a  stony  indifference.  I  think  this  saved  my  life,  for 


146  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby." 

he  thought  I  was  not  feeling  keenly  enough  the  horrors  of 
my  position.  Never  speaking  above  a  whisper,  and  moving 
with  the  utmost  caution,  for  fear  of  arousing  the  suspicion 
of  Pinkow  or  the  guard,  he  approached  the  bed,  on  which 
lay  a  piece  of  sewing  upon  which  I  had  been  engaged  in  the 
morning.  Lifting  it  with  the  helve  of  the  hatchet  he  flung 
it  into  the  fire-place,  where  the  coals  were  still  bright. 

' '  There! ' '  he  said,  chuckling—"  let  that  go  first.     You'll 
not  need  it  any  more — you're  going  the  same  way." 

Then  he  snatched  the  cover  off  the  table,  a  note-book 
lying  on  it,  a  little  shawl  I  wore,  and  an  apron— all  went  the 
same  way.  Next  he  reached  out  for  a  heavy  blanket  under 
which  I  had  hidden  the  little  two-gallon  keg,  which  I  knew 
still  contained  above  a  quart  of  whisky.  I  had  been  afraid 
to  empty  it  out,  but  had  hoped  he  might  forget  it  in  his  ex- 
citement over  other  affairs.  Now  it  suddenly  rolled  out,  and 
the  hollow  noise  it  made  seemed  like  a  death-knell  to  me. 
He  sprang  upon  it  with  ferocious  exultation,  snatched  a 
tumbler  from  the  chimney-board  and  filled  it  with  the  liquid 
fire.  It  was  but  a  short  respite  for  me;  the  shades  of  night 
were  falling  around  the  tent,  and  long,  dark  hours  lay  black 
and  death-boding  before  me.  Contrary  to  all  expectation, 
however,  the  whisky  seemed  to  lull  him  to  sleep;  and,  after 
emptying  one  glass  after  the  other,  he  stretched  himself  on 
the  bed,  bidding  me  lie  where  he  could  touch  me  with  his 
hand,  lest  I  should  open  the 'tent  during  his  sleep  and  let  the 
soldiers  in  to  murder  him. 

I,  too,  slept  at  last,  after  I  had  seen  the  guard-fire  blazing 
up  brightly  outside,  and  heard  the  sentinel  relieved  at  nine 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Tofy."  147 

o'clock  at  night.  What  woke  me  up  I  never  knew,  but  as 
I  opened  my  eyes  they  fell  directly  on  the  sharp  edge  of  the 
hatchet,  and  the  maniac  face  of  my  husband  grinning  fiend- 
ishly behind  it.  In  a  moment  it  flashed  on  me  that  he  was 
taking  deliberate  aim  so  as  to  kill  me  at  the  first  blow,  fear- 
ing, doubtless,  that  in  my  death-agony  I  should  scream  for 
help,  if  the  blow  were  not  planted  full  in  my  brain.  Before 
I  could  move  my  head,  his  other  hand  was  grasping  my 
throat  and  pressing  my  head  back  on  the  pillow;  but  the 
struggle,  faint  as  it  had  been,  had  changed  the  position  of 
the  weapon  in  his  hand.  Then  I  saw  that  not  only  was  he 
trying  to  get  in  the  most  telling  blow,  but  he  was  also  calcu- 
lating the  exact  position  in  which  the  shadow  was  thrown  on 
the  roof  and  wall  of  the  tent.  He  had  evidently  replenished 
the  fire,  as  the  night  was  cool,  to  convince  Pinkow  and  the 
guard  that  serenity  and  harmony  prevailed  in  our  tent,  and 
the  glitter  in  the  drunken  fiend's  eye  was  hardly  less  cruel 
than  the  glint  of  the  cold  steel  of  the  hatchet.  I  raised  my 
hand  imploringly,  and  tried  to  speak. 

"  Not  a  word  out  of  you,"  he  hissed  into  my  ear  with  an 
oath.  ' '  I  can  cut  you  into  little  pieces  before  the  guard  can 
get  into  the  tent,  and  I'm  going  to  do  it.  So  much  you  get 
for  asking  for  a  guard  to  protect  you.  Then  I  am  going  to 
roast  you  alive,  for  telling  the  Judge- Advocate  all  about 
me." 

And  he  pressed  my  head  back,  and  again  took  aim. 
Presently  he  laughed,  shifted  his  position  and  declared  he 
didn'  t  want  my  brains  spattered  all  over  his  hands,  like  the 
dog's,  and  putting  his  heavy  hand. on  my  forehead  he 


148  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby." 

brought  the  hatchet  within  an  inch  of  my  throat,  making 
the  motion  of  drawing  it  across  and  across. 

"  Steady,"  I  heard  him  mutter,  "steady." 

Wheather  he  meant  the  admonition  for  himself  or  for  me, 
I  never  knew;  but  after  a  moment's  balancing  he  rolled 
over,  the  hatchet  fell  from  his  nerveless  hand  on  my  breast, 
and  in  a  moment  more  he  slept  the  heavy,  sottish  sleep  of 
the  drunkard.  Hardly  daring  to  breathe,  I  lay  with  my 
eyes  wide  open,  praying  for  daylight  to  come,  and  for  some 
helpful  hand  to  lead  me  from  this  dark,  dreadful  tent,  and 
out  of  the  dreary,  desolate  graveyard  of  a  country. 

At  last  the  day  dawned;  Pinkow  called  to  the  lieutenant 
what  hour  it  was,  and  when  he  saw  from  the  lieutenant's 
looks  that  this  gentleman  had  slept  all  night  with  his  clothes 
on,  he  knew  that  the  remnant  of  whisky  had  been  found. 
Coming  in  to  light  the  fire,  he  started  back  when  his  eyes 
fell  upon  me;  and  well  he  might,  for  when  I  approached  the 
little  mirror  over  the  chimney-board,  I  saw  that  there  were 
white  hairs  among  the  brown  on  my  head.  Without  a  word 
Pinkow  placed  breakfast  on  the  table,  carried  the  two  chairs 
from  the  back  part  of  the  tent  to  the  front,  where  the  table 
was  laid,  and  started  to  go,  taking  up  a  tin  dish  with  a  great 
deal  of  racket,  I  thought. 

' '  Fresh  beef  at  the  commissary  this  morning, ' '  he  ex- 
plained, ' '  and  I  mean  to  cook  a  real  nice  broth  for  the  lieu- 
tenant to-day." 

I  thought  the  remark  a  little  ambiguous,  but  the  lieuten- 
ant seemed  to  take  it  in  good  faith. 

Pinkow  had  not  returned  when  the  guard  came  to  lead 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby,"  149 

the  lieutenant  to  the  court  session.  Glad  of  an  excuse  to 
get,  if  only  a  few  feet  distant,  away  from  my  tormentor,  I 
busied  myself  with  the  preparations  for  dinner,  leaving  the 
table  laid  for  Pinkow' s  breakfast.  When  the  guard  tapped 
at  the  tent-door  I  turned  to  call  the  lieutenant's  attention  to 
the  summons,  and  he  had  just  time  enough  to  shake  his 
clenched  fist  in  my  face  and  vow  to  "  have  my  heart's  blood 
to-night, ' '  before  leaving  the  tent.  Pinkow  must  have  lain 
in  wait  somewhere  behind  the  tent,  for  he  stood  before  me 
as  soon  as  the  lieutenant's  back  was  turned. 

"  I  have  summoned  Mrs.  Mack  to  come  to  you,"  he  said. 
' '  To  be  sure,  she  is  only  the  laundress,  but  she  can  tell  you 
how  you  look  this  morning,  and  what  you  are  coming  to. ' ' 

"  I  can  see  it  myself,  Pinkow,"  I  replied,  "and  I  made  a 
vow  to  myself  last  night  that  I  will  go  from  here,  on  foot,  if 
necessary,  into  the  mountains  where  the  Indians  can  catch 
me — anything  rather  than  stay  here  another  night. ' ' 

And  I  told  him  of  what  had  taken  place  in  that  tent  since 
our  late  dinner  of  yesterday. 

Mrs.  Mack  came  into  the  tent  while  I  was  talking;  she 
cried  out  at  my  changed  appearance — it  was  weeks  since  I 
had  last  seen  the  good  woman — and  heaped  curses,  loud  and 
deep  from  her  Irish  heart,  on  the  lieutenant's  head. 

"Let  me  go  to  the  Captain,"  she  urged — "he'll  come 
the  minute  you  send  for  him." 

"No,  no!  "  I  cried,  "not  yet.  Let  us  consider  first  what 
we  had  better  do.  And  Pinkow, ' '  I  added,  the  fear  of  the 
household  tyrant  still  uppermost  in  my  mind,  ' '  put  the  beef- 
soup  on  the  fire;  it  is  after  eleven  o'clock:  he  will  scold  if 


150  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby" 

everything  is  not  ready  when  he  comes. ' '  I  must  add  that 
our  cooking  facilities  were  not  ample,  and  one  dish  had  to  be 
cooked  after  the  other. 

' '  Curse  the  lieutenant, ' '  Pinkow  blurted  out.  '  *  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Madam,  for  my  rudeness.  But  where  is  the 
large  knife,  then,  to  take  out  this  bone  with?  " 

He  searched  the  table  for  the  knife  without  avail.  He 
went  to  his  tent  to  hunt,  without  success.  We  looked  in  the 
ashes  of  the  cook-fire,  but  it  was  not  there.  Then  a  sudden 
thought  flashed  through  my  brain.  I  raised  the  mattress  of 
the  bed;  there  lay  the  knife,  in  all  its  hideous  sharpness  of 
edge  and  breadth  of  blade. 

Mrs.  Mack  screamed  in  fright,  and  Pinkow  set  his  teeth. 

1  'And  now,  madam  ?  ' ' 

"  I  am  going,  Pinkow." 

But  how  ?  was  the  next  question.  I  had  no  doubt  the 
captain  would  help  me,  and  I  was  determined  to  leave  the 
camp  before  night;  but  I  did  not  want  the  captain  to  call  on 
me  at  our  quarters,  nor  would  I  go  to  the  laundress'  quarters 
to  meet  him.  I  did  not  want  even  the  sun  above  us  to  see 
that  any  preparations  were  making  for  flight — I  had  such  a 
dread  of  exciting  the  lieutenant's  suspicion.  But  I  was  fully 
roused  at  last,  and  would  kill  him  before  he  should  get  me 
into  his  power  again.  In  the  meantime,  the  precious  mo- 
ments were  slipping  by.  Mrs.  Mack  combed  out  my  long, 
tangled  hair,  and  bathed  my  face  as  she  would  have  done  a 
child's,  while  Pinkow  had  gone  to  have  the  captain  sum- 
moned from  the  court-room,  and  hold  council  with  him. 
When  he  returned,  the  final  steps  were  decided  on,  and, 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby."  151 

with  many  parting  adjurations  not  to  abandon  my  resolve, 
Mrs.  Mack  left  the  tent  shortly  before  the  lieutenant  was 
expected  to  return. 

I  saw  his  face  darken  as  he  approached. 

"  Seems  to  me  you  are  keeping  open  house  to-day;  looks 
very  inviting,"  he  snarled,  pointing  to  the  flaps  of  the  tent, 
which  Pinkow  had  fastened  away  back,  leaving  the  front  of 
the  tent  as  open  as  possible. 

' '  Madam  had  a  headache  this  morning,  and  the  sun  is  so 
pleasant  that  I  fastened  the  canvas  back  like  that,"  and  al- 
ready Pinkow  was  bustling  around,  placing  dinner  on  the 
table,  and  setting  the  chairs. 

"I've  cooked  you  a  nice  broth,  lieutenant,  as  I  prom- 
ised," he  continued,  ladling  out  the  soup,  and  then  leaving 
the  tent  as  if  he  had  forgotten  something  outside. 

My  heart  beat  with  great  heavy  throbs  as  I  sat  opposite 
to  the  lieutenant  at  the  table,  and  as  I  scanned  the  haggard 
face  and  drawn  features  before  me,  I  almost  felt  the  old  pity 
creep  into  my  heart  again.  But  he  raised  his  eyes  at  that 
moment,  and  all  the  pity  went  out  of  my  heart,  as  he  asked, 
fiercely: 

' '  Why  do  you  look  at  me  ?  They  haven' t  got  me  yet, 
but  I'll  get  you  first." 

The  gleam  in  his  eye  was  as  cruel  as  the  flash  of  the  knife 
I  had  discovered  that  morning,  and  my  purpose  became 
more  firm  than  ever.  Just  as  we  were  about  to  leave  the 
table,  Mrs.  Mack  tapped  at  the  tent-pole — punctual  to  the 
second — and  innocently  asked  if  she  could  speak  a  few 
words  to  the  lieutenant. 


152  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby." 

"Come  in,  Mrs.  Mack,"  I  said;  and  really  my  voice  did 
not  tremble,  nor  did  I  change  color,  though  I  knew  that 
now  the  time  had  come. 

I  had  invited  her  to  a  seat  on  the  bed,  and  while  she  was 
addressing  the  lieutenant  in  regard  to  some  little  favor  she 
pretended  to  want  shown  her  when  he  should  be  returned  to 
duty,  I  placed  his  chair  facing  her,  and  with  his  back  to  the 
entrance  or  front  of  the  tent.  While  she  was  still  speaking, 
Pinkow  entered  the  tent,  and  rising  from  the  chair  I  had 
been  occupying  near  the  lieutenant's,  I  said,  half  aloud: 

' '  Why,  poor  Pinkow  has  no  chair  to  sit  at  the  table, ' ' 
picking  up  my  own  chair  as  if  to7place  it  at  the  table  for 
him. 

And  I  did.  I  set  the  chair  down  quite  noisily,  whisper- 
ing to  Pinkow: 

' '  I  am  going  now, ' '  and  the  next  moment  I  had  gathered 
my  skirts  close  around  me,  glided  softly  from  the  open  tent, 
and  was  flying  swiftly  down  the  lane  which  the  tents  of  the 
1 '  L  "  company  soldiers  formed  to  the  left  of  our  quarters. 

At  the  very  first  tent  stood  Corporal  Cook,  who  pointed 
silently  in  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Mack's  bell-shaped  tent,  for 
I  had  been  so  confined  and  guarded  that  I  knew  only  the 
general  direction  of  her  tent.  I  had  never  yet  seen  it.  In 
an  instant  there  were  footsteps  resounding  on  all  sides  of  me. 
At  a  signal  from  the  corporal  there  were  suddenly  soldiers  in 
front  of  me  to  lead  the  way,  soldiers  beside  me  to  guard  my 
steps,  soldiers  behind  me  to  avert  any  possible  pursuit.  In 
two  minutes  I  had  reached  my  harbor  of  refuge;  a  shout 
went  up  on  the  outside  of  the  tent  as  I  sank  down  on  a  pile 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby."  153 

of  fresh-laundried  clothes,  and  an  answering  shout  came 
from  the  direction  from  which  I  had  just  fled.  Dennis  Mack 
sprang  forward  from  the  depths  of  the  tent,  and  Mulhall, 
the  blacksmith,  stood  in  the  door. 

"What  is  it,  Mulhall?"  I  asked,  wildly;  "why  do  the 
men  shout  so  ?  " 

"It's  because  you  are  safe  out  of  that  tent,"  he  replied, 
and  he  threw  back  the  flap  of  the  tent.  "See — the  men 
have  drawn  a  complete  cordon  around  this  tent,  and  twenty 
of  them  are  guarding  the  lieutenant  from  breaking  through 
his  lines." 

"For  God's  sake  let  them  guard  him  well!"  I  panted; 
and  just  then  Mrs.  Mack  came  speeding  along  almost  as 
swift  of  foot  as  I  had  come. 

She,  too,  flung  herself  on  a  pile  of  clothes,  gasping  for 
breath,  and  fanning  herself  vigorously  with  her  apron. 
Dennis  stood  helpless  between  us. 

"Bridget,"  he  asked  in  great  concern,  "Bridget  dear, 
sure  you're  not  kilt?  " 

"It's  kilt  I  am  inthirely,  Dinny,"  she  replied.  "  Och! 
the  murtherin,  black-hearted  divil!" — shaking  her  fist  toward 
the  tent  I  had  just  deserted;  "but  it  was  me  he  wanted  to 
kill,  too,  whin  he  found  his  wife  had  got  away." 

And  she  proceeded  to  relate  how  the  shout  of  the  soldiers 
had  first  called  the  lieutenant's  attention  away  from  her. 

"Where's  my  wife?"  he  had  asked,  turning  with  quick 
apprehension  to  the  front  of  the  tent.  Then  with  a  fearful 
oath  he  had  sprung  upon  her,  accusing  her  of  conspiring 
against  him,  and  helping  me  off;  and  only  the  timely 


154  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby." 

interference  of  the  guard  outside  had  saved  her  from  his 
clutches.  Once  outside,  she  took  time  to  relieve  her  feel- 
ings by  informing  him  that  she  had  helped  his  wife  to  get 
away  from  him,  and  then  made  for  her  tent,  while  the  lieu- 
tenant was  checked  by  the  guard,  and  reminded  that  he 
must  not  leave  his  quarters. 

"But  I  want  my  wife,"  he  had  insisted;  to  which  the 
guard  replied  that  he  thought  he  had  seen  me  walking 
toward  the  sutler-store. 

"Then  I'm  going  to  follow  her!" — and  he  made  the 
attempt,  but  the  clicking  of  the  carbine  in  the  sentinel's 
hands,  and  his  decided  "  Halt!  or  I  fire!"  had  brought  him 
to  his  senses,  while  the  threatening  faces  he  saw  all  around 
him  proved  that  one  more  step  would  be  fatal  to  him. 
Then  he  turned  at  bay;  and  calling  Pinkow,  he  ordered 
him  to  bid  me  return  at  once,  or  suffer  the  consequences. 
Giving  the  men  a  sign  to  take  him  inside,  so  that  he  should 
not  see  the  direction  he  took,  Pinkow  came  straightway  to 
the  tent  of  the  laundress,  and  reported  the  proceedings. 
He  threw  his  cap  high  in  air  as  he  cried: 

' '  I  promised  to  cook  the  lieutenant  a  fine  broth  to-day, 
and,  please  the  Lord,  I've  done  it." 

' '  Shall  we  hang  the  lieutenant  ?  ' '  Mulhall  asked  earnestly, 
"we'll  do  it  in  a  minute.  Or  shoot  him  ? — though  shooting 
is  too  good  for  him,  and  we'd  prefer  to  hang  him,  and  we'll 
do  it,  whether  or  no,  if  he  ever  tries  to  approach  you  again. ' ' 

I  strove  to  quiet  their  ardor:  but  for  the  captain's  approach 
just  then  I  don't  know  what  might  have  been  done.  Those 
in  the  tent  fell  back  respectfully,  and  after  a  short  interview 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby"  155 

the  captain  left  to  consult  with  the  other  officers  in  regard 
to  the  best  course  to  pursue,  as  I  had  expressed  my  determi- 
nation not  to  remain  in  the  same  place  with  that  madman 
overnight.  I  wanted,  if  possible,  to  set  out  with  as  many 
men  as  could  be  spared  toward  Fort  Bowie,  (Apache  Pass) 
and  so  by  way  of  Arizona  into  California,  where  most  of  my 
friends  were  now  living.  After  half  an  hour's  deliberation, 
the  officers  decided  that  I  could  not  go  that  way.  Fort 
Bowie  was  something  over  a  hundred  miles  from  there,  the 
way  lying  through  the  worst  part  of  the  Indian-infested 
country,  and  the  highest  number  of  men  they  could  give  me 
would  be  only  twenty-five — partly  infantry  at  that.  So  it 
was  decided  that  I  should  retrace  the  road  I  had  once 
before  traveled  toward  Santa  Fe.  At  Fort  Union  it  was 
thought  that  I  might  still  find  General  Alexander  and  wife, 
who  were  going  in  with  a  military  train  of  which  the 
General  had  command. 

The  captain  brought  me  kind  messages  from  all  his 
brother- officers.  I  had  their  sympathy  and  their  respect, 
and  had  I  been  revengeful  I  might  have  triumphed  over  my 
persecutor  in  advance,  for  I  knew  that  he  would  be  ulti- 
mately expelled  from  their  ranks.  But  there  was  no  re- 
vengeful feeling  in  my  breast  then,  for  when  it  was  decided 
that  I  should  again  have  six  men  and  a  sergeant  for  escort, 
with  Pinkow  to  wait  on  me,  I  nearly  broke  the  poor  fellow's 
heart  by  imploring  him  to  stay  behind  and  wait  on  the  lieu- 
tenant. I  knew  that  he  would  fare  badly  among  all  these 
hostile  men,  and  I  knew  that  Pinkow  would  keep  his 
promise,  if  I  got  it,  to  treat  him  well. 


156  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby." 

A  number  of  the  commanding-officers  of  the  posts 
through  which  I  should  have  to  pass  were  assembled  at  the 
court-martial,  and  therefore  the  letter  which  the  captain 
gave  me  was  addressed  to  those  whom  they  had  left  in  com- 
mand. Whatever  request  or  instructions  the  letter  con- 
tained I  never  knew.  It  had  been  placed  in  my  hand  open, 
but  I  had  not  been  bidden  to  read  it.  It  was  returned  to 
me  by  each  commanding  officer  on  my  road,  and  retained  by 
the  last.  It  secured  me  new  escort,  fresh  ambulance-mules, 
and  every  possible  kindness  and  attention  I  could  wish  for; 
but  I  never  read  the  magic  words. 

The  sun  was  sinking  when  the  ambulance  drove  up  to  Mrs. 
Mack's  tent.  The  captain  had  insisted  on  having  at  least 
my  trunk  and  side-saddle  brought  from  the  lieutenant's  tent, 
though  I  wanted  to  leave  everything  behind,  and  not  let 
him  know  I  had  left  camp  at  all. 

"He  will  follow  me  this  very  night,  captain,  I  know  he 
will,"  I  protested — "you  know  how  he  did  the  last  time." 

The  captain  smiled  his  quiet  smile. 

"  The  lieutenant  taught  me  a  lesson  then.  He  will  not 
follow  you  again;  at  least,  not  to-night.  I  will  promise  you 
that." 

And  when  Pinkow  came  with  the  men  bearing  the  trunk, 
he  said  that  the  lieutenant  was  lying  on  the  bed,  a  guard 
with  drawn  revolver  sitting  at  the  foot,  a  sentinel  pacing  up 
and  down  in  front  of  the  tent,  another  at  the  back,  and 
' '  L  "  Company  men  all  around  the  tent  waiting  and  hoping 
for  him  to  attempt  an  escape. 

The  trunk  was  lifted  into  the  ambulance;  the  men  kept 


Flight:  A  Sequel  to  "Toby."  157 

piling  in  stores  of  blankets,  bread,  tea,  sugar,  coffee — though 
the  captain  had  had  a  mess-chest  placed  inside,  and  a  lunch- 
basket  well  filled  besides,  with  a  pair  of  his  own  blankets 
spread  on  the  seat.  Richard  instead  of  Pinkow  sat  beside 
the  driver;  the  captain  came  to  bid  me  a  last  farewell  and 
"good-speed,"  and  just  as  the  first  shadows  of  the 
coming  night  fell  on  the  earth,  I  passed  slowly  and  for 
ever  from  out  the  tents  and  soldiers'  quarters  of  Fort 
Bayard. 

At  the  captain's  quarters  stood  assembled  the  officers  who 
formed  the  court-martial,  with  uncovered  heads,  ready  to  bid 
me  farewell.  But  I  knew  that  the  rumbling  of  the  ambu- 
lance fell  like  the  wheels  of  the  juggernaut-car  on  the  heart 
of  the  wretched  man  in  the  tent  close  by,  and  bidding  the 
driver  in  half-stifled  tones  not  to  stop,  I  passed  slowly  along 
the  line  of  officers.  The  last  I  saw  through  my  tears  was  a 
cloud  of  waving  handkerchiefs  and  hats  raised  aloft;  then 
the  ambulance  made  a  sharp  turn,  and  I  pressed  my  hands 
to  my  face  and  cried  bitterly.  But  I  was  not  left  long  to  my 
grief;  a  rush  of  footsteps  behind  the  ambulance  caused  the 
driver  to  look  back.  It  was  Pinkow  and  Mulhall  with  more 
blankets,  more  bread,  more  canned  fruit  and  renewed  in- 
junctions to  Richard  to  take  good  care  of  me. 

"And,  Madam,"  urged  Mulhall,  "suppose  you  let  Ser- 
geant Horine  repeat  his  instructions  to  you,  just  to  impress 
it  well  on  the  minds  of  the  men,  you  know." 

"Very  well,"  I  said,  willing  to  humor  them  all,  for  I 
knew  they  wanted  me  to  feel  safe.  The  ambulance  halted; 
the  sergeant  rode  up. 


158  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby" 

"Sergeant,"  I  said,  "I  should  like  to  know  what  your 
instructions  are." 

"  My  orders  are  to  escort  the  ambulance  to  Fort  Selden, 
and  shoot  the  first  man  who  approaches  madam  against  her 
wish." 

Mulhall  was  satisfied;  Pinkow  wiped  the  tears  from  his 
face,  and  they  both  said  good-by  for  the  last  time. 

The  grey  dawn  was  breaking  when  we  entered  Fort  Cum- 
mings.  The  commanding  officer  was  instantly  aroused,  and 
he  promised  at  my  request  to  put  on  double  guard  while  I 
remained  at  the  post.  It  was  only  to  sleep  for  a  few  hours, 
and  the  men,  who  declared  that  their  horses  were  still  quite 
fresh,  were  ready  to  go  on.  They  were  to  go  only  to  Fort 
Selden;  for,  since  it  was  open  flight  this  time,  I  could  ask 
without  hesitation  everywhere  for  the  means  to  carry  it  out 
successfully,  and  I  was  confident  that  Sergeant  Horine's 
orders  would  be  reissued  to  the  men  at  every  post. 

When  we  had  emerged  from  Magdalena  Pass,  Richard 
insisted  on  calling  a  halt.  He  wanted  to  cook  a  cup  of 
coffee  for  his  madam  for  the  last  time,  and  the  least  I  could 
do  for  him  was  to  gratify  this  very  reasonable  wish.  I  left 
the  ambulance,  and  the  escort  dismounted.  A  fire  soon 
blazed  up,  with  the  water  hissing  above  it.  I  was  seated  on 
a  little  knoll,  watching  the  road  we  had  come,  almost  invol- 
untarily, when  Richard  came  up;  in  his  hand  a  large  white 
cup  from  the  captain's  mess-chest.  The  wind  blew  back  his 
bushy  hair,  revealing  a  long,  badly- healed  gash  on  his  fore- 
head— a  souvenir  from  the  swamps  of  Richmond;  and  a 
deep  scar  on  his  cheek,  a  memento  of  the  Vicksburg 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby."  159 

trenches,  lost  itself  in  the  waves  of  his  heavy  beard.  But 
there  were  tears  in  the  big  man's  eyes,  and  as  they  trickled 
slowly  into  his  mustache,  he  said  in  a  broken  voice: 

''It's  the  last  cup  of  coffee  I  shall  ever  cook  for  my 
madam.  And — and — I'm  so  glad  you're  going  away." 

He  laid  the  cup  down  and  turned  away;  and  while  I  drank 
it,  more  than  one  tear  fell  into  the  coffee. 

If  her  husband  had  suddenly  been  promoted  brigadier- 
general,  my  friend  at  Fort  Selden  could  not  have  been  more 
delighted  than  when  she  discovered  me  in  my  ambulance. 
That  my  new  escort  was  fully  instructed  as  to  its  duty  by  her 
husband,  I  need  hardly  say. 

I  hurried  through  from  post  to  post  as  fast  as  I  could;  for 
though  the  guards  were  doubled  wherever  I  stopped,  and  I 
was  assured  everywhere  that  the  lieutenant  could  not  possi- 
bly escape  from  Fort  Bayard,  I  thought  my  own  thoughts, 
knowing  the  man  better  than  any  one  else.  My  fears 
grew  when  we  left  the  chain  of  military  posts  behind,  and, 
nearing  Albuquerque,  we  were  sometimes  compelled  to  stop 
overnight  at  some  Mexican  village,  or  lonely  adobe  house, 
along  the  Rio  Grande.  At  such  times  my  escort  did  guard 
duty,  patrolling  in  front  of  the  door  of  the  casa  the  whole 
night  through.  Fortunately  these  casa  possess  only  one 
door,  as  a  general  thing;  the  window,  if  there  is  any,  being 
high  up  in  the  wall  on  the  same  side  of  the  house  with  the 
door.  Only  in  one  house  there  was  a  small  window  oppo- 
site the  door,  and  on  this  occasion  both  sides  of  the  house 
were  guarded.  Still  I  did  not  feel  safe,  and  looked  around 
the  room  in  search  of  something  I  could  hurl  at  the 


160  Flight:    A  Sequel  to  "Toby." 

lieutenant's  head  should  it  suddenly  appear  through  the 
little  narrow  window. 

Now,  if  the  window  itself  was  rather  an  American  feature 
of  this  casa,  the  deposit  of  bottles  I  discovered  in  one  corner, 
under  an  old  mat,  added  considerably  to  the  coloring. 
They  seemed  a  perfect  godsend  to  me,  however,  and  on  the 
bench  in  front  of  my  bed  I  set  up  a  perfect  battery  of  empty 
bottles.  I  remember  them  very  distinctly,  for  a  bottle  which 
had  once  contained  some  sort  of  bitters,  of  stout  glass  in  the 
shape  of  a  primitive  cabin,  seemed  the  most  powerful  weapon 
of  defence  to  me,  and  I  patted  it  lovingly  ere  I  stood  it  up  in 
front  of  me.  Then  came  black  bottles  that  might  have 
contained  whiskey  or  wine  in  their  day — common  bottles 
enough,  I  dare  say,  and  perhaps  never  before  looked  upon 
with  such  satisfaction  and  affection. 

Then  we  reached  the  crossing  of  the  Rio  Grande,  seven 
or  eight  miles  before  entering  Albuquerque,  and  here  we 
found  fresh  trouble  in  store.  The  river  had  overflowed  and 
swept  down  stream  the  large  scow  that  served  for  a  ferry- 
boat, leaving  us  helpless  and  unable  to  cross  the  stream. 

There  was  no  possibility  of  fording  the  stream  at  this 
place  and  this  season.  To  me  this  misfortune  seemed 
doubly  great,  as  I  knew  that  the  overland  stage  was  nearly 
due  here  at  the  crossing,  and  nothing  could  shake  my  belief 
that  that  miserable  man  had  got  away  from  Fort  Bayard, 
and  was  in  the  stage. 

I  descended  from  the  ambulance,  and  mounted  one  of  the 
horses,  and  together  with  the  sergeant  rode  up  and  down 
the  river-bank  to  see  if  we  could  discover  any  trace  of  boat, 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Tody."  161 

skiff,  or  canoe.  I  would  have  encouraged  the  men  to 
"press"  anything  in  this  shape,  without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion. Away  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  we  could  discern 
a  hovel  of  some  kind,  the  habitation  of  the  ferry-man, 
perhaps,  when  there  was  a  ferry;  and  my  men  bethought 
them  of  firing  off  pistols  and  carbines,  and  waving  handker- 
chiefs and  blankets  in  order  to  make  any  one  who  might  be 
over  there  understand  that  we  wanted  to  be  helped  across. 

The  moments  flew.  I  feared  that  darkness  would  over- 
take us  there,  and  that  dreaded  stage-coach  might  come  in 
sight  at  any  time.  At  last  the  sergeant  consented  to  com- 
ply with  my  wish,  which  was  nothing  more  or  less  than  I 
should  be  allowed  to  mount  one  of  the  soldiers'  horses,  and, 
accompanied  by  the  sergeant,  should  swim  the  stream. 

"It  is  as  much  as  your  life  is  worth,  Madam,"  he  re- 
monstrated; "of  course  the  horse  will  swim,  but  your  head 
will  swim,  too,  and  you  can  never  hold  yourself  on  the 
horse. ' ' 

* '  But  I  can  slide  off, ' '  I  suggested,  ' '  and  hold  on  to  his 
tail,  and  he  will  drag  me  across  in  that  manner." 

I  don't  remember  where  I  had  picked  up  this  piece  of 
wisdom,  but  I  was  determined  to  try  this  novel  method 
rather  than  stay  on  this  side  the  river. 

The  sergeant  had  already  advanced  quite  a  distance  from 
the  shore  ahead  of  me,  when  a  shout  from  the  men  called  us 
back,  and  they  pointed  to  a  black  speck  moving  toward  us 
from  the  other  side.  It  proved  to  be  a  tiny  canoe,  in  which, 
on  nearer  approach,  were  discovered  a  Mexican  and  an 
Indian,  both  of  whom  sprang  out  of  the  craft  when  a  few 


1 62  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  " 

hundred  yards  from  the  shore,  and  hauled  the  vessel  in  after 
them  out  of  the  current,  which  was  very  strong.  Quickly 
the  soldiers  helped  them  land  the  boat  and  clean  it  out, 
after  which  I  was  helped  into  it,  and  cautioned  not  to  stir. 
There  was  barely  room  for  the  sergeant  beside  myself  and 
the  two  dark-faced  Charons.  For  many  yards  both  of  them 
waded  in  the  water,  the  one  guiding  the  boat,  the  other 
pushing. 

The  current  was  strong,  the  river  fully  a  mile  across,  and 
there  was  water,  water,  everywhere  around  me.  I  closed 
my  eyes  when  the  two  ferry-men,  after  many  shouts  and  re- 
sponses, at  last  got  into  the  canoe.  As  we  approached  the 
middle  of  the  stream  I  could  feel  the  current  drawing  us 
swiftly  down  the  river,  and  when  I  felt  the  sergeant  moving 
in  the  boat,  and  heard  his  voice  mingling  loudly  with  that 
of  our  pilot,  I  dropped  my  hands  from  my  face  and  looked 
fearlessly  out  over  the  water.  I  saw  that  the  boat  had 
drifted  far  down  the  stream;  but  I  saw  the  ambulance  still  in 
the  same  place  on  the  other  shore,  and  the  waving  of  handker- 
chiefs proved  that  we  were  closely  watched  by  the  faithful 
men  we  had  left  behind.  With  hands  tightly  clasped,  I  sat 
perfectly  still.  No  need  to  make  the  burden  resting  on  the 
sergeant's  shoulders  heavier  than  it  was,  by  showing  fear  or 
lack  of  courage.  If  he  had  risked  his  life  to  carry  me  safely 
over,  I  would  certainly  show  no  fear  for  mine. 

At  last  the  other  shore  was  reached.  The  low  adobe  hut 
was  barely  discernible  a  mile  above  us,  and  to  this  we  had  to 
retrace  our  steps,  as  it  was  the  ferry-man's  abode,  and  there 
we  should  have  landed.  Inside  we  found  his  wife,  (a  dark 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby."  163 

Mexican)  and  one  child.  Here  I  was  to  remain  till  the  ser- 
geant, mounted  on  an  old  mule  belonging  to  the  ferry-man, 
should  return  from  Albuquerque  with  an  ambulance  and  es- 
cort. There  was  no  fear  but  what  he  would  return  in  the 
shortest  possible  time,  and  with  everything  he  wanted,  for 
he  carried  the  magic  letter  with  him.  What  I  dreaded  was, 
that  the  overland  stage  should  come  while  the  sergeant  was 
gone.  In  vain  he  explained  to  me  that  the  high  water 
throughout  would  probably  detain  the  stage  from  reaching 
this  crossing;  that  the  stage  could  not  float  over;  that  the 
soldiers  on  the  other  side  would  not  let  any  of  the  passen- 
gers cross;  and  that  he  had  instructed  the  ferry-men  not  to 
cross  the  river  again  until  he,  the  sergeant,  had  returned. 
As  the  military  generally  ruled  supreme  in  the  territory,  the 
ferry-men,  I  knew,  would  obey  the  sergeant.  I  knew,  also, 
that  the  soldiers  would  recognize  the  lieutenant  even  in  dis- 
guise, and  would  shoot  him  down  with  a  great  deal  of  pleas- 
ure, should  he  try  to  get  over  before  they  had  seen  the  Al- 
buquerque ambulance  depart  with  me  in  safety. 

Still,  I  sat  in  fear  and  trembling  in  that  low  adobe  room, 
trying  to  speak  pleasantly  to  the  brown-faced  woman  and 
the  little  child,  but  listening  intently  for  splash  of  oars  or 
tramp  of  horses,  and  counting  the  minutes  that  must  pass 
before  the  sergeant  could  return.  After  all,  he  came  sooner 
than  I  expected.  The  ambulance  was  drawn  by  four  mules, 
panting  and  sweating  from  the  violent  run  of  an  hour;  and 
out  of  the  ambulance  sprang  Captain  Cain,  of  the  Third. 
His  wife  was  waiting  for  me,  he  said — had  been  waiting  for 
me  ever  since  the  time  I  had  passed  through  Albuquerque 


1 64  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby." 

a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  my  own  husband.  In  fact,  he 
said,  they  had  all  been  looking  for  me;  and  at  Fort  Union, 
from  whence  he  had  just  returned  after  attending  court- 
martial  there,  they  had  been  expecting  for  weeks  to  hear  of 
my  death  or  my  flight. 

It  is  almost  needless  to  say  how  kindly  the  captain  and 
his  young  wife  cared  for  me,  and  how  much  they  wanted 
that  I  should  stay  and  rest  at  least  one  day.  The  captain, 
occupying  the  adobe  house  in  town,  had  soldiers  from  the 
barracks  stationed  in  and  about  the  place  and  sentinels 
paced  all  night  long  in  front  of  the  room  which  Mrs.  Cain 
and  I  occupied.  But  I  could  not  rest. 

' '  I  know  he  will  follow  me — let  me  go  on, ' '  was  my  con- 
stant refrain. 

And  on  I  went — none  too  soon  as  it  afterward  proved. 

Nearing  Algadones  the  following  day,  the  ambulance- 
driver  suddenly  drew  up  in  the  road,  pointing  to  a  com- 
fortable adobe  with  broad  veranda  in  front. 

".The  General,"  he  said;  and  I  ordered  him  at  once  to 
drive  up  to  the  house. 

General  Carlton  spoke  so  kindly  to  me,  that  the  tears 
sprang  to  my  eyes,  as  he  held  my  hand  and  looked  into  my 
worn  face. 

"You  are  almost  home  now,"  he  said.  "Mrs.  Alex- 
ander is  waiting  for  you  at  Fort  Union,  and  you  will  find 
everything  ready  provided  for  your  journey  in  with  her  and 
her  husband." 

"  Mrs.  Alexander!  "  I  repeated;  "  waiting  for  me — " 

"Yes,"  he  replied;  "for  when  the  general,  on  his  return 


Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby."  165 

from  his  tour  of  inspection,  told  her  what  he  had  heard  and 
seen  at  Fort  Bayard,  she  insisted  that  the  marching  of  the 
general's  command  should  be  delayed,  so  sure  was  she  that 
you  would  make  your  escape  and  try  to  return  to  your 
friends  in  the  East.  So — go  with  God;  I  could  not  place 
you  in  better  hands  than  those  of  General  Alexander  and 
wife;  and  I  will  see  that  you  are  not  pursued  or  harassed 
any  more." 

Santa  Fe*  was  almost  deserted  when  I  got  there.  All  the 
officers  of  Fort  Marcy,  except  Captain  Hawly,  were  still  at 
Fort  Union;  and  as  I  had  the  best  of  mules  and  swiftest  of 
horses,  I  reached  Fort  Union  in  an  incredibly  short  time. 

I  shall  never,  while  life  lasts,  forget  the  sensation  of  rest 
and  relief  which  I  felt  when  my  eyes  fell  for  the  first  time  on 
Mrs.  Alexander's  face.  It  had  so  happened  that  I  had 
never  met  or  become  acquainted  with  the  general  and  his 
wife.  They  had  not  crossed  the  plains  with  our  command, 
coming  into  Fort  Union  long  after  we  had  left  it  for  Fort 
Bayard.  But  neither  of  us  remembered  that  we  had  never 
been  introduced,  when  tired,  worn,  and  sorrowful,  I  was 
lifted  from  the  ambulance  in  front  of  the  general's  quarters. 
Mrs.  Alexander  came  to  meet  me;  and  when  she  looked 
into  my  face  I  don't  know  what  expression  she  saw  there, 
but  she  laid  her  arm  around  my  neck,  and  as  I  rested  my 
head  for  a  moment  on  her  shoulder,  she  whispered: 

"  I  want  you  to  think  you  have  just  come  home  to  a  sister 
now.  I  will  care  for  you  and  be  to  you  as  to  one  of  my 
own." 

And  she  kept   her   word.     If  ever  an  angel  descended 


1 66  Flight:   A  Sequel  to  "Toby" 

from  heaven  to  live  upon  earth,  it  was  that  woman.  Long 
years  have  passed  since  then,  but  the  memory  of  that  hour 
has  never  grown  dim. 

And  now  it  only  remains  for  me  to  tell  you  how,  when 
we  reached  Fort  Lyons  with  the  general's  command,  an  ex- 
press rider  followed  him  to  say  that  the  lieutenant  had 
escaped  from  Fort  Bayard  the  day  after  the  court-martial 
had  adjourned;  had  been  arrested  at  Fort  Selden,  and 
placed  under  guard;  had  escaped  to  Albuquerque,  been  re- 
arrested  and  placed  in  irons;  had  here  called  upon  the  civil 
authorities,  always  at  variance  with  the  military  powers,  and 
had  been  set  free;  had  then  proceeded  to  Fort  Union  where 
he  was  now — safe.  He  could  follow  us  no  farther;  but  later 
I  learned  that  a  medical  commission  had  been  called,  who 
had  pronounced  him  insane,  and  advised  the  authorities  to 
send  him  to  a  lunatic  asylum.  But  again  he  called  upon  the 
civil  authorities;  found  some  lawyer,  with  little  else  to  do,  to 
"  defend  his  case,"  and  managed  to  go  unharmed  as  usual. 

Then  the  proceedings  of  the  court-martial  were  returned 
from  Washington,  unapproved,  because  of  some  flaw  this 
same  lawyer  had  managed  to  pick  in  them  with  the  lieuten- 
ant's aid,  and  the  other  officers  had  still  to  tolerate  him 
until  a  second  court-martial  could  be  called.  In  the  mean- 
time, in  the  regular  routine  he  had  advanced  one  step  on  the 
army  register;  but  by  the  second  court-martial  he  was  sen- 
tenced to  be  cashiered  the  service.  The  sentence  was  ap- 
proved at  Washington;  the  officers  were  but  too  glad  to 
expel  him  from  their  brotherhood,  and  I  have  never  learned 
in  what  corner  of  the  earth  he  lives  or  lies  buried. 


Flight:  A  Sequel  to  "Toby"  167 

But  to  you,  dear  Delia,  I  had  always  intended  giving  the 
satisfaction  of  an  explanation — ever  since  the  time  when  you 
were  in  danger  of  being  looked  upon  as  a  keeper  of  a  crazy 
woman.  Do  you  remember  the  incident  ?  It  was  shortly 
after  I  had  come  to  board  at  good  Mrs.  B.'s,  and  you  were 
kind  enough  to  accompany  me  in  some  of  my  wanderings, 
in  quest  of  something  to  do.  I  had  just  been  promised  a 
position  as  language  teacher,  at  one  of  our  public  schools; 
and  though  to  me  the  thought  of  having  to  live  between  the 
cold,  white  walls  of  a  dreary  school-room,  day  in  and  day 
out,  was  anything  but  enticing,  I  still  had  reason  to  thank 
my  stars  that  I  had  found  employment,  and  a  means  of  in- 
dependent livelihood  so  soon. 

You  remember  that  a  troop  of  cavalry  passed  the  door  of 
the  building  where  the  rooms  of  the  Board  of  Education 
were  then  situated — soldiers  being  rather  more  plentiful,  all 
over  the  union,  than  they  are  now.  But  there  was  an  officer 
mounted  on  a  white  horse  at  the  head  of  this  column,  and, 
just  as  they  passed  the  door,  the  bugle  sounded  the  cavalry- 
call,  and  the  whole  troop  went  off  on  a  trot. 

Soldiers!  Cavalry!  A  white  horse!  A  flood  of  memo- 
ries swept  through  my  heart — bitter  thoughts  of  the  past, 
and  what  might  have  been — and  while  you  stood  by,  dis- 
tressed and  uncertain  what  to  do,  I  sat  crouched  down  on 
the  lowest  step  of  the  hall-door,  my  shoulders  swaying  back 
and  forth,  my  hands  pressed  over  my  face,  and,  as  the  bugle 
call  grew  fainter  in  the  distance,  I  still  sobbed  aloud : 

"Oh,  Toby!  Toby!     Poor  Toby!     Poor  Toby!" 


A  MINER  FROM  ARIZONA. 


A  MINER  FROM  ARIZONA. 

SHE  had  met  him  in  the  hall  twice  before  that  day — un- 
mistakably a  fresh  arrival,  dressed,  from  the  hat  to  the  boots, 
in  new  store  clothes,  bought  ready-made,  without  much 
judgment  or  taste  as  to  fit  or  material.  When  he  walked  it 
was  with  a  deliberate,  rather  shambling,  but  by  no  means 
heavy  step;  when  he  stood  still  it  was  with  feet  wide  apart, 
and  a  general  air  of  surveying  a  big  stretch  of  country  around 
him,  calmly  expectant,  half  alert,  half  indifferent — too  dis- 
creet to  court  danger,  but  conscious  of  the  power  to  do  it 
battle.  Not  an  old  man,  and  a  handsome  man  withal,  his 
beard  blanched  from  exposure  more  than  age,  and  the  lines 
in  his  face  speaking  of  hardships  and  much  solitary  life. 

He  had  planted  himself  with  his  back  against  the  balus- 
trade surrounding  the  stairway,  and  waited  for  her  approach, 
without  the  slightest  tone  of  disrespect,  but  evidently  with 
the  intention  of  addressing  her.  Such  a  heart-hungry,  long- 
ing look  as  there  was  in  his  large  eyes  of  bluish-grey — such 
an  expression  of  being  lost  and  alone  here,  in  the  large, 
strange  city,  more  than  ever  he  had  been  on  his  wildest, 
most  solitary  prospecting  trip.  Uncovering  his  head,  he 
said: 

"Excuse  me,  madam"  (which  proved  him  a  Southerner 
— a  Yankee  would  have  said  Miss),  "but  I  have  seen  you 
several  times  since  I  came  here,  and  don' t  know  anyone  else 


172  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

to  ask :  Is  this  really  the  Worthington  House,  or  not  ?  I 
can' t  get  any  kind  of  satisfaction  from  the  lady  I  rented  my 
room  of." 

"This  is  the  Worthington  House;  yes,  sir." 

"  How  comes  she  to  say,  then,  that  she  is  not  my  old 
pardner's  wife  ?  Old  Worthington  told  me,  years  ago,  that 
if  I  ever  came  to  San  Francisco,  I  must  stop  at  his  wife's 
fine  lodging  house,  on  Kearny  Street.  The  house  is  fine 
enough;  I  haven't  seen  anything  finer  in  Arizona" — a 
humorous  smile  lit  up  his  face — "but  that" — indicating  the 
parlor  with  a  bend  of  his  head — "  ain't  old  Worthington' s 
wife,  and  I  know  it." 

"  You  are  right;  the  present  landlady  purchased  the  place 
of  Mrs.  Smith,  who  bought  out  Mrs.  Worthington  several 
years  ago.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Ward  feared  to  lose  you  as  a 
roomer  if  she  disclosed  the  fact  at  once  that  she  was  an  utter 
stranger  to  Mrs.  Worthington,  or  anyone  connected  with 
her. 

"Reckon  I'll  stay  here  now,"  he  decided,  after  meditat- 
ing, "seeing  that  I've  got  comfortably  fixed,  and  found 
someone  to  talk  to.  You  are  the  lady  that  paints  the  pic- 
tures ?  ' '  pointing  to  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  where  a  sign 
announced  that  portraits  were  painted  in  oil  and  water- colors. 
He  moved  slowly  up  to  the  door  and  contemplated  a  num- 
ber of  small  portraits,  mostly  of  actresses  in  elegant  costumes, 
which  were  displayed  in  one  large  frame.  He  regarded  the 
bright,  graceful  figures  for  a  while,  and  then  turned  to  his 
amused  companion. 

"What's  the  reason,"  he  asked,  with  blunt  directness, 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  173 

pointing  with  his  finger  to  the  frame,  "  that  these  women, 
and  most  all  the  women  I  see  on  the  street,  have  got  such 
bright,  pretty  dresses,  and  things  on  them,  and  you  only 
wear  a  black  gown  like  that?  I  didn't  hurt  your  feelings, 
did  I  ?  "  he  asked,  apprehensively,  as  he  saw  the  laughing, 
hazel  eyes  suddenly  droop,  and  tears  gather  on  the  long 
lashes.  "Indeed,  I  didn't  mean  to — and  you  so  kind  to 
me.  Why,  I'm  not  fit  to  be  a  white  man,"  he  continued  in 
self-abasement;  "  I' m  worse  than  an  Indian  to  go  and  do 
such  a  thing  as  that." 

"  I  know  you  did  not  mean  to  give  me  pain,"  she  replied, 
softly.  ' '  How  could  you  know  ?  It  was  my  little  sister 
who  died  about  eight  months  ago,  and  I  am  wearing  mourn- 
ing for  her.  Don't  you  understand  ?  " 

' '  Where  is  your  mother  ?  "  he  asked  presently. 

"Dead,"  was  the  reply. 

"And  your  father?" 

' '  He  died  two  years  ago  in  Napa.  He  failed  in  a  quick- 
silver mining  enterprise,  and  died  of  a  broken  spirit,  I  think, 
rather  than  a  broken  heart." 

The  hungry  look  in  the  man's  face  had  changed  to  one  of 
intense  curiosity.  He  was  not  yet  satisfied;  it  was,  perhaps, 
the  old  prospector's  instinct  that  urged  him  to  push  investi- 
gations further.  Perhaps,  too,  he  had  never  struck  just 
such  a  ' '  lead ' '  before. 

'  *  Brothers  ?  "  he  continued  the  examination. 

"  None,"  she  answered,  smiling  in  spite  of  herself.  "No 
relatives  in  the  world  that  I  know  of,  and  no  friends — at 
least  none  in  this  part  of  the  world. ' ' 


174  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

She  had  opened  the  door  to  enter  her  studio,  but  noting 
the  face  of  her  new  friend  fall  suddenly  back  into  the  old 
dreary  expression,  a  quick  pain  touched  her  heart  that  any 
being  should  be  more  forlorn  than  she  herself  had  been. 

"  Come  into  my  studio,"  she  said,  "and  I  will  show  you 
my  little  sister's  picture — painted  by  myself,  from  memory." 

There  were  different  pieces  leaning  against  the  wall  in 
various  stages  of  progress  and  completion — simpering  faces 
of  fat  old  dowagers,  toned  down  into  something  like  human- 
ity by  the  touch  of  a  genial  brush;  faces  of  lovely  women, 
and  handsome  bearded  men;  but  on  an  easel  rested  a  flower- 
piece,  the  creamy  yellow  and  velvety  red  of  the  rose  mingled 
there  with  the  sky-blue  of  the  forget-me-not.  A  reflection 
of  the  warm,  rich  coloring  seemed  to  flash  across  the 
stranger's  features  as  he  planted  himself  in  front  of  the 
picture. 

"My  stars,  but  that's  fine!"  he  explained,  with  quite 
unlooked  for  animation.  A  rapid,  half  contemptutous 
glance  swept  the  line  of  portraits.  "I  shouldn't  bother 
with  those  things  if  I  could  paint  like  that, ' '  pointing  to  the 
flowers. 

A  weary  sigh  escaped  the  lady's  lips. 

"  I  paint  those  flowers  only  for  recreation;  the  portraits 
pay  better,  and  are  a  surer  source  of  income  to  me." 

He  cast  a  keen  look  around  the  room.  It  was  plainly 
furnished,  though  tastefully  decorated. 

"  Must  cost  lots  of  money,"  he  said,  "although  it's  only 
a  back  room." 

"  No  doubt  the  landlady  has  made  him  sensible  of  the 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  175 

value  of  a  front  room,"  she  commented,  inwardly.  Then 
she  said: 

"  Not  that  so  much;  but  I  still  have  debts  to  pay,  con- 
tracted during  the  lingering  illness  of  my  poor  little  sister. 
Afterward  I  can  indulge  my  own  taste  more  than  at 
present. ' ' 

She  pointed  to  a  miniature  suspended  near  the  easel — a 
small  body,  but  a  head  of  ideal  beauty. 

"  Was  she  a  cripple  ?  "    he  asked,  hastily. 

' '  Helplessly  so.  I  lifted  her  from  the  bed  to  the  lounge, 
and  back  again,  to  the  day  of  her  death. ' ' 

"And  now  mourning  for  her  like  that !  She  must  have 
been  no  end  of  trouble  and  expense  to  you." 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  with  gentle  pity  in  her  eyes. 

' '  Have  you  never  had  any  one  to  love — any  one  whom 
you  had  to  care  for?  Don't  you  know  that  it  is  the  purest 
joy  we  can  find  on  earth  to  know  that  we  are  all  in  all  to 
some  one  who  is  entirely  dependent  upon  us — " 

She  hesitated  and  blushed.  What  right  had  she  to  be 
lecturing  this  man,  a  stranger  to  her?  He  had  regarded 
her  silently,  and  with  a  new  light  breaking  in  his  eyes. 

"  You're  a  mighty  good  woman,"  he  said,  with  his  usual 
directness.  "  Seems  to  me  you  are  like  my  mother." 

"  Where  is  she  ?" 

"Dead,  I  reckon." 

"And — allow  me  to  return  some  of  your  own  questions — 
have  you  no  other  relatives  ?  ' ' 

' '  Yes,  dozens.  Brothers  and  sisters — some  in  Arkansaw 
and  some  in  Texas,  some  in  the  'nation,'  and  some  back 


176  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

in  Georgy,  whar  we  were  all  bo'n."  He  had  imperceptibly 
fallen  into  his  native  dialect  during  the  recount.  Recover- 
ing himself,  he  went  on,  as  if  in  half  apology,  ' '  But  I  never 
hear  from  them  nowadays.  The  half  of  them  may  be  dead 
for  all  I  know." 

"And  you  are  on  your  way  now  to  hunt  up  as  many  of 
them  as  you  can  still  find  ?  ' ' 

"Oh,  Lord,  no!" 

It  was  said  with  such  sincere  horror  that  she  repressed  a 
laugh  with  difficulty. 

"  I  came  in  from  Arizona  to  see  what  I  could  do  here 
with  several  mines  I  have  in  the  Territory;  some  of  them 
terribly  rich,  too.  If  I  can  sell,  or  only  bond,  them  before 
I  go  back,  I  don't  care  if  I  buy  half  a  dozen  of  your  pic- 
tures myself.  Flower-pictures,  I  mean, ' '  he  added,  hastily. 
"  I  don't  want  .any  of  the  old  women  you've  painted  here." 

There  was  no  use  struggling  any  longer;  she  must  laugh, 
in  spite  of  herself — the  merriest,  heartiest  laugh  she  had 
indulged  in  for  many  a  long  day — while  he  stood  by,  calm 
and  unmoved,  neither  offended  nor  roused  to  join  in  her 
merriment. 

' '  I  mean  what  I  say.  My  name  is  Calhoun  Kendal, ' ' 
was  all  he  felt  called  upon  to  offer  as  voucher  of  his 
honesty  of  intention,"  and  if  I  sell  only  one  or  two  of  my 
claims,  I  shall  have  money  enough  to  buy  stacks  of  such 
things." 

"Which  will  be  very  fortunate  for  me,"  she  replied, 
gayly.  "And  as  you  are  to  be  a  patron  of  mine,  I  cannot 
do  less  than  invite  you  to  visit  my  studio  whenever  you  feel 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  177 

inclined.     I  shall  always  be  glad  to  see  you,"  she  added, 
with  sweet  sincerity. 

Then  he  made  her  a  short  bow,  and  left  her  to  work  on 
her  portraits  with  what  relish  she  might.  One  thing  is  cer- 
tain— the  lady  with  the  most  pugnacious  nose  had  that 
aggressive  feature  of  her  face  softened  into  comparative 
loveliness  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon;  the  artist  seemed 
to  paint  something  of  her  own  beauty  into  the  picture. 

Margaret  Benson's  sitting-room  adjoined  her  studio;  and 
she  belonged  to  that  large  class  of  much-to-be-pitied  San 
Franciscans  who  go,  day  after  day,  to  eat  their  solitary 
meals  at  a  restaurant.  Not  but  that  San  Francisco  restau- 
rants are  good.  Let  him  who  dares  find  fault  with  any  of 
our  "peculiar  institutions" — but  it  does  seem  a  very  undo- 
mestic  manner  of  living.  Flushed  with  triumph  at  having 
accomplished  that  much  dreaded  and  dreadful  nose,  Miss 
Benson  took  up  her  hat  and  wrap  and  started  in  search  of 
her  unsociable  dinner.  On  the  stairs  she  overtook  her  new 
friend,  who  stood  still,  to  give  her  the  opportunity  of  pass- 
ing by  or  addressing  him,  as  she  might  choose. 

' '  One  more  unfortunate,  going  in  quest  of  dinner  ?  ' '  she 
asked,  laughing.  ( '  Come  with  me,  if  you  have  not  yet 
established  yourself  permanently  at  any  one  place.  I  know 
they  make  you  pay  three  times  as  much  as  you  ought  to  at 
the  place  where  you  have  been  in  the  habit  of  going. ' ' 

* '  How  do  you  know  where  I  have  been  in  the  habit  of 
going?  "  he  asked,  with  a  quick,  suspicious  look,  which  one 
would  have  hardly  sought  for  in  his  face. 

She  did  not  notice  it.      "I  have  not  the  remotest  idea 


178  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

where  your  haunts  may  have  been,  Mr.  Arizona,"  she 
answered,  with  comical  gravity.  "  I  only  hazarded  that 
opinion  on  the  strength  of  the  general  appearance  of  things, 
and  as  the  result  of  my  own  keen  observation."  And 
when  they  had  finished  their  very  comfortable  dinner,  he 
was  free  to  own  that  her  * (  keen  observation  ' '  had  not  mis- 
led her. 

Mr.  Calhoun  Kendal  was  not  an  idle  man,  by  any  means. 
Of  the  different  mining  properties  which  he  owned,  some 
alone  and  some  in  partnership  with  others,  a  number  were 
almost  sure  to  find  a  market  in  San  Francisco,  he  thought, 
though  it  was  "mighty  slow  work,"  as  he  often  complained. 
It  always  seemed  a  relief  to  him  to  find  an  asylum  in  the 
studio  of  Miss  Benson,  and  the  lady  herself,  as  well  as  those 
who  happened  to  be  sitting  for  portraits,  were  equally  enter- 
tained by  the  man  who  could  tell  of  "hair-breadth  'scapes," 
and  incidents  in  which  the  romantic  and  horrible  were 
strangely  blended.  He  soon  came  to  be  a  well  known 
figure,  and  the  wonder  among  her  lady  patrons  was  that 
Miss  Benson  should  not  induce  him  to  sit  for  his  picture. 
So  much  character  in  his  face,  they  said,  and  altogether  so 
striking  a  head,  with  the  flowing  beard  and  the  high,  fur- 
rowed brow.  But  he  would  not  listen  to  any  proposal 
tending  in  that  direction.  He  didn't  want  to  be  made  a 
figure-head,  he  told  her  in  confidence,  one  day.  She  might 
paint  as  many  flower-pictures  as  she  wanted  to  for  him,  and 
he'd  buy  'em  all  some  day,  when  he  had  sold  a  mine;  but 
face-pictures! — no,  not  for  him. 

Some  days  his  hopes  ran  high  in  regard  to  these  mines, 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  179 

and  other  days  he  seemed  discouraged  and  hopeless  of 
doing  anything  with  them. 

"You  see,"  he  explained  to  her,  "those  strikes  that 
were  made  by  myself  when  out  prospecting  all  alone  I  could 
sell  or  bond  at  low  figures  and  make  something  at  it,  but 
places  that  three  or  four  of  us  together  took  up  have  got  to 
be  held  at  higher  figures,  or  neither  of  us  make  a  cent. 
Now,  these  fellows,  my  pardners,  have  put  this  thing  into 
my  hands,  and,  of  course,  I'm  not  going  back  on  them.  If 
I  can't  sell  or  bond  something  for  them,  I'm  not  going  to 
bond  or  sell  anything  for  myself  alone — and  that's  just  how 
matters  stand." 

"And  did  you  go  through  the  country  alone — all  by 
yourself?  Where  did  you  get  anything  to  eat  ?  How  did 
you  keep  the  Indians  off?  You  could  not  fight  them 
single-handed,  could  you  ?  " 

He  answered  her  questions  in  rote  and  conscientiously: 

"  Yes,  I  went  through  the  country  alone  frequently,  and 
sometimes,  if  I  thought  I  had  found  a  pretty  good  showing, 
I  rigged  up  a  tent  with  blankets  or  branches,  and  stayed 
while  my  provisions  held  out,  if  there  was  water  and  feed 
for  my  mule,  when  I  had  one.  Sometimes  I  footed  it,  and 
then  I  carried  what  grub  I  could,  and  went  back  to  some 
settlement  for  more  when  it  gave  out.  I  never  fought  a 
large  number  of  Indians  single-handed  but  once.  I  was 
living  in  a  shanty  in  the  mountains,  and  discovered  about 
thirty  Indians  prowling  around  early  one  Sunday  morning, 
when  I  peeped  through  a  chink  in  the  wall.  One  of  them 
came  up  near  enough  for  me  to  take  aim  at  him  through  a 


180  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

small  opening  by  the  fire-place,  and  he  jumped  into  the  air 
with  a  yell,  and  fell  down  dead.  The  rest  seemed  to  think 
there  was  a  whole  garrison  concealed  in  the  shanty,  and 
they  made  off,  leaving  the  dead  one  behind.  Then  I  went 
out,  dug  a  hole,  tied  a  rope  around  the  Indian's  neck,  and 
dragged  him  into  it.  After  that  I  saddled  my  mule,  went 
to  Tucson  to  get  my  grub  for  the  week  and  looked  around 
to  see  if  I  could  discover  more  of  them  skulking  among 
the  timber." 

She  had  clasped  her  hands  in  horror.  The  thought  of 
the  dead  Indian,  dragged  along  by  the  rope  around  his 
neck,  made  her  shudder  with  terror. 

'  *  But  were  you  all  alone — no  other  human  being  near  ?  ' ' 
she  persisted. 

' '  There  was  a  cat — as  smart  a  cat  as  ever  I  saw.  She 
liked  fresh  meat  best,  but  as  the  supply  was  short,  I  used  to 
shoot  game  for  her,  and  she  knew  whenever  I  took  up  my 
gun  early  in  the  morning,  before  going  out  to  work,  that 
the  game  was  for  her.  You  should  have  seen  her  watch, 
and  bring  in  the  rabbit,  or  squirrel,  or  birds  I  shot!  It  was 
just  fun." 

"And  the  Indian — did  you  stay  there,  where  you  had  put 
him  into  the  ground  ?  ' ' 

' '  Certainly.  It  is  much  safer  prospecting  near  a  dead 
Indian  than  a  live  one." 

A  horrible  prosaic  being,  she  called  him,  with  a  little  shiver, 
and  so  utterly  devoid  of  sentiment  or  romance,  but  with  such 
uncompromising  honesty  of  purpose  that  all  his  faults  and 
peculiarities  vanished,  in  her  eyes,  before  his  good  qualities. 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  181 

He  seemed  best  satisfied  when  they  were  alone,  and  she 
worked  at  the  flower-pictures.  He  followed  every  move  of 
her  hand,  and  wondered  how  human  fingers  could  perform 
such  deft  and  delicate  work.  His  own  hands  were  singu- 
larly awkward.  There  was  nothing  they  touched  or  lifted 
but  was  set  down  awry  or  bent,  and  whatever  could  possibly 
be  broken  by  contact  with  the  ground  was  sure  to  find  its 
way  there  out  of  his  hands.  In  fact,  he  liked  best  to  hold 
quiet  possession  of  a  comfortable  corner  of  the  lounge,  to 
which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  bringing  him  the  paper  he 
wanted  to  read,  the  glass  he  wanted  to  drink  from,  or  the 
fruit  she  always  had  ready  for  him  to  eat.  To  her  it 
seemed  so  much  less  lonesome  since  she  had  some  one  to 
provide  for  again,  while  he  followed  with  his  eyes  her  every 
step  and  motion  when  attending  to  his  comfort,  as  though 
he  meant  to  paint  her  from  memory  some  day,  as  she  had 
painted  her  dead  sister. 

They  went  out  together  sometimes,  though  he  said  that 
an  hour's  sight-seeing  made  him  more  tired  than  a  month's 
prospecting,  but  if  any  show  were  brought  to  him,  he  said, 
he  didn't  object  to  looking  on.  It  was  the  procession  in 
celebration  of  the  national  holiday  he  was  speaking  of,  and 
he  was  not  a  little  proud  of  his  front  room  on  this  occasion, 
as  it  looked  out  on  Kearny  Street,  and  he  could  solemnly 
invite  Miss  Benson  to  see  the  "show"  from  his  windows. 
But  if  the  sun  of  the  Arizona  deserts  had  never  caused  him 
discomfort  or  a  headache,  the  sun  of  San  Francisco,  glitter- 
ing on  the  polished  steel  of  the  unstained  arms  of  the  war- 
like militiamen,  caused  him  great  discomfort  and  a  most 


1 82  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

distressing  headache.  Without  the  slightest  regret  at  losing 
so  fine  a  sight,  Miss  Benson  instantly  drew  the  blinds,  and 
made  the  patient  recline  on  a  lounge.  Then  she  went  to 
her  landlady's  kitchen  prepared  a  cup  of  strong  tea,  and, 
between  keeping  ice-water  on  his  head,  and  compelling  him 
to  drink  his  tea  black  and  without  sugar,  she  restored  him 
to  his  usual  health  in  an  hour  or  two.  While  he  lay  on  the 
lounge  his  eyes  followed  her,  as  usual,  in  spite  of  all  she 
could  say  to  the  effect  that  the  eyes  must  be  closed  to  drive 
off  a  headache. 

"  But  I  can't  see  you,  then,"  he  protested;  and  as  she  was 
about  to  change  the  wet  cloth  on  his  forehead,  he  suddenly 
seized  her  hand,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

11  You  are  a  mighty  good  woman,"  he  said,  simply.  Our 
friend  was  not  the  man  to  lift  his  fancy  to  the  height  of  "an 
angel. "  "I  can' t  think  why  you  should  be  so  kind  to  me. 
Nobody  ever  has  been  before." 

"  Just  for  that  reason,"  she  replied,  with  a  pitying  look 
at  the  hard,  weather-tanned  hands. 

"  I  am  going  to  work  now  in  earnest,"  he  said  the  next 
morning,  stopping  to  look  in  on  her  before  he  left  the  house. 
"  I  want  to  know  whether  I'm  going  to  be  a  rich  man  for  the 
rest  of  my  life,  or  a  poor  one,  and — act  according.  If  these 
capitalists  here  want  any  of  my  mines,  they  will  have  to  say 
it  pretty  quick,  or  I'll  go  on  to  New  York  with  them." 

Margaret  wished  him  the  best  of  luck  for  his  day's  work, 
and  could  not  prevent  the  rich  blood  from  showing  clear  and 
rosy  in  her  delicate  face. 

For  a  week  or  two  it  seemed  doubtful  whether  he  would 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  183 

retire  on  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  or  go  back  to  Arizona 
1 '  dead  broke. ' '  Then  he  came  home  one  day  to  pack  his 
valise  (he  had  never  owned  a  trunk  in  his  life),  and  start 
back  for  Arizona  to  consult  his  different  "pardners"  in 
regard  to  their  willingness  to  consolidate  some  half  dozen  of 
the  mines,  as  he  had  just  "struck"  a  number  of  moneyed 
men  who  would  incorporate  as  the  ' '  Kendal  Consolidate ' ' 
under  certain  conditions,  and  give  stock  equal  to  $50,000  to 
each  partner  for  his  share  and  claim. 

' '  Shall  you  be  gone  long  ?  ' '  Margaret  asked,  with  a  slight 
tremor  in  her  voice. 

"  From  six  weeks  to  three  months.  Shall  you  be  here 
when  I  return  ?  ' ' 

"Yes." 

"I'll  buy  those  pictures  if  I  come  back  with  money,"  he 
said,  taking  a  last  look  around  the  room,  and  he  turned  to  go. 

For  two  months  she  heard  nothing  from  him ;  then  a  slow 
step  came  up  the  stairs  one  day  and  approached  her  room. 
She  sprang  to  open  the  door  to  a  mixture  of  dust,  sun-burn, 
and  flowing  beard,  her  face  flushed  and  her  eyes  sparkling. 

"  Welcome  home!  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  thrill  of  delight 
in  her  voice. 

"Powerful  hot  down  there,"  he  said;  and  he  quietly 
dropped  into  his  old  corner  of  the  lounge.  '  *  Looks  like 
home  here,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause;  "and  you  are 
certainly  the  best  woman  in  the  world, ' '  as  she  approached 
him  with  a  glass  of  cool  water  and  took  his  hat  from  his 
hands. 

Mrs.  Ward  had  already  heard  of  his  arrival,  and  hastened 


i&4  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

to  inform  him  that  his  old  room  would  be  vacated  and  ready 
for  him  in  half  an  hour.  And  before  a  full  hour  had  passed 
it  seemed  to  them  all  that  he  had  been  gone  only  since  yes- 
terday. 

His  trip  had  been  successful,  he  told  Margaret,  and  the 
Kendal  Consolidated  had  been  incorporated  during  his  ab- 
sence. He  could  have  returned  in  a  month's  time,  if  it  had 
not  been  that  he  wanted  to  re-locate,  for  himself,  a  very  good 
prospect  he  had  come  across  years  ago,  and  which  would  be 
valuable  now  in  view  of  the  railroad  to  be  built  through 
Arizona. 

Early  the  next  morning  he  visited  the  office  of  the  Kendal 
Consolidated,  and  seemed  to  have  grown  an  inch  or  two 
while  there.  He  had  met  so  many  people  at  the  office  who 
were  eager  and  anxious  to  see  the  Mr.  Kendal  who  had  dis- 
covered the  great  Kendal  mine.  It  chimed  in  well  with  the 
interests  of  the  directors  that  the  name  and  fame  of  Mr. 
Kendal  should  not  be  hidden  under  a  bushel;  and  the  secre- 
tary had  not  only  told  him  that  the  stock  already  sold  higher 
than  they  had  expected  it  to  go,  but  had  undertaken  to 
bring  him  together  with  parties  who  would  take  his  last  loca- 
tion off  his  hands  without  once  looking  at  it. 

"  Fm  a  rich  man  now,  sure;  and  as  big  a  man  as  any  in 
the  city." 

Margaret  laughed,  as  she  had  laughed  at  all  his  oddities 
since  she  had  known  him.  The  next  day,  however,  when 
he  returned  from  ' '  our  office, ' '  and  told  her  of  a  fine  young 
man  to  whom  he  had  been  introduced,  and  who  was  to  take 
him  to  his  father's  house,  she  did  not  laugh. 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  185 

' '  Has  a  sister,  he  says — a  nice  young  gal  that  he  wants  to 
introduce  me  to." 

She  looked  at  him  in  an  odd,  startled  sort  of  way.  Not 
that  any  eccentricity  of  orthography  or  grammar  in  his 
speech  could  have  surprised  her,  however;  she  had  grown 
accustomed  to  that.  When  he  really  left  the  house  that 
evening  to  pay  the  visit,  she  was  a  thousand  times  more 
lonesome  than  she  had  been  during  all  his  stay  in  Arizona. 
Long  after  ten,  when  she  heard  his  step  on  the  stairs,  she 
hastily  turned  off  the  gas,  but  listened  at  the  door.  Yes,  his 
step  halted  there  before  he  passed  on  to  his  own  room. 

In  the  morning  she  was  at  work  on  a  portrait,  but  laid  it 
aside  for  a  ' '  flower-picture ' '  when  Mr.  Kendal  came  in  to 
sit  with  her  a  little  while. 

"  Fine  gal,  that  sister  of  young  Briscoe's,"  he  broke  out, 
as  enthusiastically  as  was  possible  for  Calhoun  Kendal. 
' '  Our  Secretary  said  he  would  introduce  me  to  some  high- 
toned  people,  and  he  kept  his  word.  Highly  respectable 
family.  The  mother  wears  a  real  point-lace  cap  and  tucker 
— or  whatever  you  call  it,  and  the  young  lady  was  dressed 
the  prettiest  I  ever  saw.  Very  stylish,  and  the  last  mode, 
Dick  says — that's  the  boy's  name.  Live  in  good  style,  too 
— very  genteel  house  and  elegant  bricky-brack  furniture, 
and  all  that." 

Margaret  listened  in  surprise  to  words  which  she  knew 
had  not  belonged  to  her  friend's  vocabulary  till  within  a  day 
or  two;  but  Mr.  Kendal  talked  on,  regardless  of  the  girl's 
silence. 

"We're  all  going  to  the  theater — the  old  lady,   Dick, 


1 86  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

Sadie  and  the  father,  too,  I  reckon.  I  didn't  see  much  of 
him,  though;  guess  he  hasn't  got  much  to  say.  Wanted  to 
go  to-night,  but  Dick  says  we  must  go  respectable,  and  I 
must  get  a  black  dress-suit  first.  He's  going  to  take  me  to 
his  own  tailor;  guess  he'll  fix  me  up  pretty  fine.  Of  course, 
I  want  to  look  respectable  when  I  escort  a  stylish  young 
lady.  I  just  wish  you  could  see  her — she's  a  mighty  pretty 
gal.  But,  here — I'm  doing  all  the  talking.  Have  you 
nothing  to  say  ?  ' ' 

Mr.  Kendal,  of  the  Kendal  Consolidated,  was  not  very 
quick  of  perception,  or  he  would  have  observed  that  the 
hand  holding  the  brush  had  trembled  so  that  that  little  im- 
plement of  art  had  to  be  laid  aside,  and  a  pair  of  wax-white 
hands  lay  idly  folded  in  the  girl's  lap.  But  suddenly  he  was 
struck  with  the  stillness  pervading  the  whole  form,  and  he 
bent  forward  to  look  into  her  ashy  face. 

''What's  the  matter?"  he  asked,  in  alarm.  "Are  you 
sick,  or  in  pain  ?  You  look  fit  to  die." 

' '  What  difference  would  it  make  to  any  one  ?  ' '  The 
words  were  uttered  below  her  breath;  yet  Mr.  Kendal' s 
somewhat  dull  ears  had  caught  their  import. 

"  Why,  Margaret,"  he  stammered,  shocked  at  the  sudden 
change  in  her  being,  ' '  how  can  you  talk  like  that  ?  You 
know  I  would  give  half  the  money  I've  got,  and  run  a 
hundred  miles  without  stopping,  to  see  you  relieved  or 
cured  if  you  were  sick.  Shall  I  go  for  a  doctor,  or  call  Mrs. 
Ward?" 

* '  No,  no. ' '  She  looked  full  into  the  large,  honest  eyes, 
bent  upon  her  with  such  a  genuine  expression  of  concern. 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  187 

"It  was  only  a  sudden  faintness,  and  will  pass  in  a  little 
while.  Go  to  your  office  now,  and  I  will  rest  a  little." 

But  if  Margaret  had  hoped  for  an  hour  to  herself,  she  had 
made  a  miscalculation.  Mrs.  Ward  said  she  had  orders  not 
to  leave  Miss  Benson  alone,  as  she  came  in.  "And  I'm  to 
send  for  the  best  physician,  and  he  is  to  prescribe  the  most 
costly  drugs;  and  I'm  to  take  Miss  Benson  out  in  a  carriage, 
and  I'm  to  hire  a  nurse,  a  parson,  a  circus-band,  and  a  bar- 
rel-organ— all  to  restore  the  health  and  cheer  the  spirits  of 
Miss  Benson.  Precious  Miss  Benson!  She  will  be  wrapped 
with  gold-cloth  and  hung  with  diamonds  pretty  soon,"  Mrs. 
Ward  added,  laughing  heartily  at  the  recollection  of  Mr. 
Kendal's  concern. 

Margaret  smiled,  but  with  pale  lips.  "An  excellent  man 
is  Mr.  Kendal,  and  a  true  friend." 

He  would  not  even  go  to  look  after  his  black  suit  in  the 
evening,  he  was  so  glad  to  find  Margaret  better,  an  I  was 
overjoyed  to  find  her  at  her  easel  again  early  the  next  morn- 
ing. She  had  left  the  door  open  for  him  purposely,  and 
now,  while  they  were  both  commenting  on  the  form  just 
springing  into  life  on  the  canvas,  a  voice  outside,  inquiring 
for  Mr.  Kendal,  attracted  their  attention.  The  servant  dust- 
ing and  brushing  in  the  hall  approached  the  door,  followed 
by  a  young  man,  who  very  unceremoniously  looked  into  the 
roo'm  over  the  domestic's  shoulder,  and  did  not  even  wait 
for  Mr.  Kendal  to  invite  him  to  enter. 

"These  your  rooms,  old  fellow?"  he  asked,  without 
seeming  to  notice  the  other  inmate. 

"  This  is  Miss  Benson's  studee-o.     Miss  Benson,  allow  me 


1 88  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

to  introduce  Mr.  Briscoe.  Miss  Benson  is  my  oldest  San 
Francisco  friend,  and  a  great  artist.  I  consider  it  a  favor  to 
be  admitted  here,  and  am  sensible  of  the  privilege  granted 
me  to  watch  so  highly  gifted  a  lady  practicing  her  art." 

If  the  lance  was  somewhat  unwieldy  which  the  knight  of 
the  sun-browned  hands  was  breaking  in  the  cause  of  chiv- 
alry, his  friend  understood  that  it  was  meant  to  rebuke  the 
lack  of  courtesy  and  deference  shown  a  lady,  and  Dick  Bris- 
coe was  quick  to  take  the  cue. 

"Ah!  beg  pardon,"  contracting  his  eyebrows,  as  though 
the  light  from  the  one  window  might  have  blinded  him. 
1 '  Happy  to  meet  Miss  Benson — a  friend  of  yours  and  an 
artist.  Beautiful !  "  he  exclaimed,  standing  before  the  flower 
panels  on  the  wall.  "  How  Sadie  would  admire  those!  We 
must  ask  permission  of  Miss  Benson  to  bring  my  sister  in  to 
see  them  some  time,"  he  said,  alert  as  usual,  turning  to  the 
honest  Arizonian,  whose  face  was  relaxing  at  the  praise  be- 
stowed on  his  friend. 

The  new  black  suit  was  sent  home  to  Mr.  Kendal  in  due 
time,  and  he  presented  himself  to  Margaret  in  his  fine  array 
on  the  night  of  his  visit  to  the  theater  with  the  Briscoe 
family. 

"  Do  I  look  respectable  in  my  new  clothes?  "  he  asked. 

"  Eminently  so,"  was  the  truthful  reply,  "  but  I  liked  you 
far  better  in  the  more  unconventional  dress  you  wore  when 
I  first  saw  you. ' ' 

"These  don't  feel  so  comfortable,  either,"  he  admitted. 

Mr.  Kendal  was  charmed  with  his  glimpse  of  what  he 
considered  fashionable  life,  and  he  went  in  pursuit  of  it  to 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  189 

the  church  or  the  theater  with  equal  gusto.  As  a  crowning 
piece  to  his  stylish  outfit,  he  had  purchased  a  black  cylinder 
hat,  to  the  amazement  of  Dick  Briscoe  himself,  who  came 
to  conduct  him  to  the  church  where  the  Briscoe  family  rented 
a  pew. 

"Ain't  it  rather  a  bore,  though?"  he  asked,  consider- 
ately. 

"Well,  yes,"  Mr.  Kendal  admitted,  cheerfully;  "but 
then,  you  know,  a  black  silk  hat  is  the  most  respectable 
kind  of  a  hat  to  go  to  church  in,  after  all. ' ' 

"That's  so,"  assented  the  accommodating  youth,  and 
moving  his  own  tile  a  little  to  one  side,  he  stepped  to  the 
window  to  conceal  a  smile.  He  himself  had  put  the  ' '  re- 
spectable "  wrinkle  into  his  friend's  head,  but  this  was  out- 
H  eroding  Herod.  However,  if  his  Arizona  friend  was 
pleased,  why  should  he  object  ? 

"I've  done  it,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Kendal,  rushing  into  the 
studio  one  morning,  sinking  into  a  chair,  dropping  his  tile, 
and  wiping  his  heated  brow  on  a  scented  pocket-handker- 
chief. "I've  talked  to  her  father — she  said  I  might  last 
night,  at  the  theater.  I  am  going  up  to  see  her  this  after- 
noon, to  tell  her  that  he's  willing." 

Margaret  wished  him  joy,  and  the  happy  man  started  on 
his  visit  at  the  earliest  proper  moment.  Dick  Brisco  him- 
self opened  the  door  for  him,  and  led  him  into  the  parlor, 
where  Miss  Sadie  received  her  elderly  lover  without  any  at- 
tempt at  coyness.  He  was  bewildered  a  moment  by  her 
beauty  and  seductive  smile,  but  after  the  first  confusion  he 
timidly  approached,  and  laid  his  hand  on  one  of  the  long 


I  go  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

braids  of  yellow  hair  that  fell  gracefully  across  her  shoulder. 
"My  stars,"  he  gave  word  to  his  admiration,  "I  never 
before  knew  that  you  had  such  a  beautiful  head  of  hair." 

"  No,  by  Jove,  nor  I,"  chimed  in  Dick,  who  had  posted 
himself  on  a  sofa  opposite  to  the  lounge  on  which  his  sister 
was  airily  seated,  evidently  for  the  purpose  of  enjoying 
Sadie's  first  reception  of  an  accepted  lover. 

"You,  Dick!" 

With  a  single  cat-like  spring  she  was  beside  her  brother, 
shaking  him  by  the  arm,  and  threatening  him  with  her 
pretty  little  hand. 

"Let  me  alone,"  he  protested,  choking  with  laughter. 
"Mr.  Kendal  call  her  off.  She  hates  me  for  being  in  the 
room.  I'll  go  now,"  and  he  rushed  out,  leaving  Sadie  to 
her  adorer. 

Of  course  Miss  Bricoe  was  pretty,  very  pretty,  with  bright 
black  eyes,  and  a  full  suit  of  fashionable  yellow  hair,  bewil- 
deringly  arranged,  and  a  form  as  lithe  and  swift  in  its  mo- 
tions as  that  of  a  panther  or  a  cat.  There  was  something 
audacious  about  her,  that  had  at  first  astonished  and  at- 
tracted the  unsophisticated  man,  while  the  petted-child  air 
she  could  assume  had  made  him  long  to  stretch  out  his  hand 
and  caress  her  as  he  would  a  playful  little  kitten.  That  the 
young  lady  had  been  christened  ' '  Sarah ' '  in  her  infancy 
detracted  nothing  from  her  good  looks,  but  she  hated  all 
who  ventured  to  be  familiar  with  her  original  name. 

If  there  was  any  change  in  Margaret  Benson,  Mr.  Kendal 
did  not  notice  it;  he  still  came  into  the  "studee-o,"  but  it 
was  generally  only  to  tell  of  some  new  excellence  or  beauty 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  191 

he  had  discovered  in  hisjftancee,  or  to  draw  comparisons  be- 
tween the  female  portraits  there  and  Miss  Sadie  Briscoe 
always,  of  course  awarding  the  palm  to  that  young  lady. 

' '  How  old  are  you  ?  "  he  asked  of  Margaret  one  day, 
after  he  had  been  confiding  to  her  his  discovery  of  some 
new  merit  in  his  betrothed. 

' '  Twenty-five — nearly  twenty  six,"  was  the  composed 
reply. 

"My  stars!  Why,  that's  what  we  call  an  old  maid  in 
my  country." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  called  so  here,  too,"  she  assented  smil- 
ingly. 

' '  Now  Sadie  is  only  seventeen — and  she  says  she  has 
always  wanted  to  find  in  the  man  she  loved  one  who  would 
be  companion,  husband,  and  father  to  her  at  the  same  time. ' ' 
(The  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  Miss  Sadie  had  passed 
her  second  decade;  "but,"  as  she  said  to  brother  Dick  in 
confidence,"  the  old  fellow  wants  a  young  wife  for  his 
money,  and  I  think  I'll  fill  the  bill.") 

One  morning  shortly  after  breakfast  Mr.  Kendal  was 
seized  with  one  of  his  sudden  headaches,  and  remembering 
Margaret's  former  kindness  he  saw  no  reason  why  he 
should  not  again  appeal  to  her  Samaritan  qualities.  She 
darkened  the  room,  bathed  his  head  in  ice- water,  and  was 
making  all  preparations  she  thought  necessary,  when  Dick 
Briscoe,  not  having  found  the  Arizonian  at  the  Kendal  Con. 
office,  came  to  inquire  into  the  cause  of  his  absence. 

"You  can't  think  how  good  that  woman  has  been  to 
me,"  said  the  patient,  when  Margaret  had  left  the  room, 


1 92  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

"  and  she  knows  just  what  is  good  for  me  when  I  get  sick." 

' '  But  how  do  you  think  Sadie  would  like  it  if  she  knew 
of  Miss  Benson's  coming  into  your  room  when  you  are 
sick?" 

"  I  should  think  very  poorly  of  any  woman  who  was  too 
nice  to  take  compassion  on  a  fellow-being  when  sick,"  Mr. 
Kendal  declared. 

Mr.  Dick  made  a  note  of  it.  * '  But  she  might  be  jeal- 
ous," he  suggested,  insinuatingly. 

' '  Sadie  jealous  of  me  ?  "  A  pleased  smile  broke  over  the 
Arizonian's  face.  "  But  she  need  not  be  jealous  of  Miss 
Benson,  I'm  sure." 

Dick  seemed  so  concerned  for  Mr.  Kendal' s  health  that 
he  made  him  promise  not  to  leave  the  house  till  he  should 
call  for  him ;  and  though  the  patient  had  recovered  within  an 
hour  or  two,  he  kept  his  word  scrupulously  and  to  the 
letter,  and  did  not  leave  the  house. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  there  was  a  faint  rustle  of  silk  along 
the  hall  by  Margaret's  room,  and  directly  the  door  of  Mr. 
Kendal' s  room  dew  open,  and  a  dazzling  array  of  wavy 
yellow  hair,  fleecy  lace,  and  glittering  jewelry  rushed  into 
the  outstretched  arms  of  the  happy  man. 

"  Oh,  what  a  dear  little  puss  you  are,"  he  said,  after  she 
had  breathlessly  related  how  pa  and  ma  [it  was  ' '  the  old 
man"  and  "the  old  woman"  between  Sadie  and  her 
brother  in  private]  both  believed  her  gone  to  the  matinee, 
and  how  shocked  and  grieved  they  would  be  if  they  knew 
that  dear  brother  Dick  had  consented  to  her  prayers,  and 
had  brought  her  to  see  her  dear  suffering  darling. 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  1 93 

"  How  can  I  ever  show  dear  brother  Dick  my  gratitude?" 
and  he  held  out  his  hand  to  that  noble  young  man,  who 
had  discreetly  turned  to  the  window  till  the  first  transport 
should  have  subsided. 

"Ah!  but  you  wicked,  naughty  man  had  a  strange  lady 
tending  you,  when  you  knew  that  I  would  gladly  have 
braved  everything  to  come  to  you  if  you  were  sick.  Where 
is  the  wretched  woman  that  dared  to  take  my  place  ?  Let 
me  see  her  at  once." 

More  delighted  than  he  wanted  to  own,  her  lover  assured 
her  that  she  should  not  only  visit  the  "  studee-o  "  of  the 
lady,  but  that  he  had  a  surprise  in  store  for  her  there;  and 
he  marshaled  the  brother  and  sister  across  the  hall.  With 
due  pride  he  introduced  his  betrothed  to  the  tall,  self- 
possessed  woman  at  the  easel,  who  received  her  visitors 
pleasantly,  inquiring  of  Mr.  Kendal  about  the  pain  in  his 
head. 

' '  And  now  for  my  surprise, ' '  said  Mr.  Kendal,  as  Sadie 
was  complimenting  Miss  Benson  on  the  different  flower- 
pieces  by  her  hand.  "  Them's  all  mine  " — waving  his  hand 
toward  the  pictures,  and  forgetting  his  grammar  in  his 
anxiety  to  give  his  beloved  pleasure.  "  Miss  Benson  has 
been  a  long  while  painting  them  for  me,  and  the  price  is  no 
object,  as  they  are  to  be  a  present  to  you,  my  dear." 

Miss  Briscoe  quickly  raised  her  eyes  to  Miss  Benson's 
face.  Had  this  handsome  woman  really  never  fascinated 
her  husband  in  spe  f  And  had  Miss  Benson  never  tried  to 
secure  the  prize  for  which  she  herself  had  so  eagerly  striven? 
There  was  a  flush  on  Margaret's  face,  and  Miss  Sadie  eyed 


1 94  A  Miner  from  Arizond. 

her  keenly;  but  after  a  moment  the  glittering  black  orbs 
drooped  involuntarily  before  Margaret's  clear  hazel  eyes. 

"  I  shall  prize  them  so  highly,"  Miss  Sadie  said,  sweetly, 
' '  both  as  a  gift  of  Mr.  Kendal  and  as  the  work  of  a  true 
artist." 

But  once  in  Mr.  Kendal' s  room  again,  she  stamped  her 
pretty  little  foot  in  uncontrollable  passion. 

11  You  shan't  have  that  old  maid  come  into  your  room 
any  more — I  won't  have  it — do  you  hear  ?  I  am  jealous, 
you  know,"  she  continued  softly,  when  she  saw  the  look  of 
displeased  surprise  in  his  face.  ' '  If  I  didn'  t  love  you  I 
wouldn't  be  jealous  of  you — would  I  ? 

He  answered  the  argument  with  a  kiss,  and  Miss  Sadie 
returned  to  the  attack.  "Who  is  your  friend,  anyhow? 
You  say  she  has  no  relatives,  no  friends,  earns  her  own  sup- 
port, and  lives  here  all  alone?  H'm — I  don't  think  that  is 
strictly  respectable,  and  I  don't  know  that  pa  would  ap- 
prove of  my  marrying  a  man  who  was  intimately  acquainted 
with  such  a  person. ' ' 

"  I  am  sure,"  her  lover  cried,  in  alarm,  "  I  mean  to  do 
nothing  to  hurt  your  feelings,  but  Miss  Benson  is  really  the 
best  woman — " 

Miss  Sadie  made  the  spring  at  him  which  she  often  made 
at  her  brother,  and  which  Mr.  Kendal  thought  so  charming. 

"  But  I  tell  you  I'm  jealous,  and  never  want  to  hear  the 
woman's  name  again." 

She  stood  on  tip- toe  before  him,  and  made  playful  at- 
tempts at  choking  him. 

After  a  while  they  passed  out  through  the  hall  together, 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  195 

and  Margaret,  lonesome  and  forgotten  in  her  room,  came  to 
her  door  as  the  party  began  descending  the  stairs  to  the 
street.  Just  then  a  gentleman  met  and  passed  them,  look- 
ing around  in  the  corridor  to  read  the  different  signs.  With- 
out a  glance  at  him,  Margaret  drew  back  into  the  room,  but 
the  gentleman  had  caught  sight  of  her,  and  hastened  to  her 
door  before  she  could  close  it. 

"Margaret — Miss  Benson!"  he  exclaimed,  extending 
both  hands,  while  Margaret,  opening  wide  the  door, 
looked  searchingly  into  his  face. 

"Philip!" 

Her  surprise  brought  the  red  blood  to  her  face,  leaving  it 
all  the  more  pale  the  next  moment. 

"And  is  this  your — your  home?"  he  asked,  looking 
around  the  room  he  had  entered. 

' '  My  studio,  home — what  you  will, ' '  she  answered,  with 
an  attempt  at  firmness  and  cheerfulness. 

"Oh,  Margaret,  poor  child,"  he  cried,  pitingly,  "don't 
try  to  make  me  believe  you  are  happy  and  contented.  I 
saw  the  pain  and  heartache  in  your  face  before  you  knew 
who  I  was." 

She  had  dropped  her  head  on  her  arm,  which  rested  on 
the  table  beside  her,  and  sobbed  like  a  tired  child.  He  laid 
his  hand  on  her  soft  hair  a  moment. 

' '  Could  you  find  no  way  of  communicating  with  us  ? 
Only  two  months  ago  I  heard  of  your  father's  death  and — and 
misfortune.  We  were  losing  ourselves  among  the  pyramids 
of  Egypt  when  Providence  sent  a  fellow  Californian  in  our 
way,  who  spoke  of  it.  We  started  home  at  once,  I  by  the 


1 96  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

most  direct  route,  but  my  mother  was  compelled  to  return 
by  way  of  Paris.  The  Lord  only  knows  what  extravagances 
she  has  been  indulging  in — spangled  dresses  and  red  shoes 
for  aught  I  know. ' ' 

Margaret  smiled  as  the  image  of  Mrs.  Dufresne,  grand 
and  calmly  dignified,  arose  before  her. 

"As  well  Semiramis  or  Zenobia  in  frizzled  hair  and  a 
Dolly  Varden." 

' '  Well,  whatever  she  brings  you  may  depend  there  will 
be  something  to  replace  this  black  gown  of  yours." 

* '  A  terribly  ugly  dress  this,  is  it  not  ?  ' '  she  asked  bit- 
terly. "  It  has  cost  me  many  a  pang." 

' '  You  have  had  great  trials,  but  your  friends  should  not 
have  allowed  you  to  remain  alone  here,  brooding  over  the 
past  and  its  irrecoverable  losses. ' ' 

A  harsh  word  arose  to  her  lips. 

"  I  could  find  no  friend  after  poor  papa  was  dead.  I 
doubt  that  I  would  have  had  the  courage  to  write  to  your 
mother,  if  I  had  known  where  to  address  you. ' ' 

"So  hard  has  the  world  dealt  with  you?  Ah,  well, 
mother  will  be  here  soon  now,  and  you  shall  forget  all  cold- 
ness and  unkindness.  I  am  to  put  mother's  own  house  in 
order  for  her,  and  I  will  have  to  go  to  Oakland  to-morrow, 
and  talk  my  prettiest  to  the  Elliots,  to  induce  them  to  give 
up  the  next  two  years'  lease.  You  know  we  were  to  have 
been  absent  for  five  years.  Then  we  must  re-furnish  the 
house.  I  shall  depend  a  good  deal  on  your  assistance,  and 
altogether  on  your  taste.  And, by  the  way,  there  you  have  four 
pretty  flower-pieces  to  decorate  the  walls  of  your  boudoir. ' ' 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  197 

"They  are  not  mine  anymore.  They  are  sold."  Her 
lips  trembled,  and  he  looked  compassionately  into  her  white 
face. 

' '  Yes,  it  must  be  hard  to  part  with,  for  money,  what  has 
grown  dear  to  us  and  a  part  of  us  in  its  very  creation. ' ' 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  he  looked  on  in  dis- 
tress a  moment,  till  he  gently  tried  to  remove  them. 

"Why,  Margaret,  girl,  is  there  any  other  sorrow  in  your 
heart  than  what  I  know  of?  Tell  me  of  it.  You  know  you 
may  confide  in  me." 

She  brushed  the  tears  from  her  lashes. 

' '  There,  I  am  better  now,  and  shall  never  again  be  lone- 
some and  forsaken.  I  know  you  will  always  be  to  me  a  true 
friend — a  kind  brother. ' ' 

Philip  Dufresne  started. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "your  best  friend,  I  hope, 
always." 

Mr.  Kendal  had  parted  with  the  brother  and  sister  Briscoe 
at  the  next  street  corner,  and  they  pursued  their  way  home. 

' '  I  say,  Sal ' '  began  the  graceless  brother. 

"Shut  up,  you  imp.  My  name  is  Sadie,"  interrupted 
the  sister. 

"  Oh,  bother  !  I  say,  I  had  a  great  mind  to  try  this  after- 
noon how  far  the  gratitude  of  my  prospective  brother-in-law 
would  bear  stretching.  I'm  in  a  tight  place,  and  the  old 
man  can't  be  stirred  a  peg.  What's  a  fellow  to  do  ?  " 

' '  At  any  rate,  not  to  blackmail  Mr.  Kendal, ' '  returned 
Miss  Sadie,  indignantly. 

"Not,  at  least,   till  you  are  fairly  married  to  him,  you 


1 98  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

mean,  Sis.  I  am  certainly  entitled  to  some  acknowledg- 
ment for  the  way  I  fished  him  up  for  you  ?  ' ' 

He  spoke  with  the  most  injured  air,  as  if  his  claims  to  hav- 
ing captured  some  highly  valued,  but  dangerous,  wild  ani- 
mal, had  been  disputed. 

"  Don't  I  tell  you  you  shall  have  all  the  money  you  want 
as  soon  as  I  am  married?  Don't  you  go  and  break  up  this 
whole  thing  now  by  your  greediness." 

''Greediness!"  he  repeated,  more  injured  than  ever. 
"  If  I  had  had  as  many  rings  and  bracelets  and  watches 
given  me  as  you,  I  wouldn't  talk  of  greediness  in  others." 

But  they  made  peace  before  reaching  home,  each  recog- 
nizing the  necessity  of  keeping  up  amicable  relations  with  the 
other.  The  peace  was  of  short  duration,  however.  Miss 
Sadie,  dressing  for  a  drive  with  her  lover  the  next  day, 
missed  a  pair  of  heavy  gold  bracelets,  his  gift,  from  her 
toilet  table.  She  stormed  down  stairs  to  the  sitting-room, 
where  young  Dick  held  sole  possession. 

"  My  bracelets!  "  she  gasped. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  them?  "  he  asked,  with  ill-as- 
sumed indifference. 

' '  They'  re  gone — stolen. ' ' 

"Chinaman  took  'em ?  "   the  brother  suggested. 

"No,  he  didn't,"  she  protested.  "I'll  not  stand  this, 
Dick.  I  want  my  bracelets  back. ' ' 

"Oh,  bother  your  bracelets!  Tell  the  old  codger  the 
Chinaman  took  them,  and  make  him  bring  you  some  more." 
And  picking  up  his  hat,  he  left  the  house. 

Philip  Dufresne,  having  settled  matters  with  the  lessees  of 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  199 

his  mother's  house,  had  insisted  on  Margaret's  active  assist- 
ance in  putting  the  same  in  order.  Upon  Mrs.  Dufresne's 
arrival  she  took  Margaret  away  from  her  lodgings  at  once, 
much  to  the  surprise  of  Miss  Sadie  Briscoe,  who  heard  of  it 
through  brother  Dick.  This  young  gentleman  had  been 
assiduous  in  his  attentions  to  the  Arizonian  of  late,  and,  vis- 
iting him  almost  daily,  had  seen  and  heard  of  the  friend  who 
had  attended  so  constantly  on  Margaret. 

"The  Dufresnes?"  Miss  Sadie  asked  between  surprise 
and  envy.  "Miss  Benson's  friends?  Why,  you  said  she 
had  no  friends.  The  Dufresne's  are  immensely  wealthy, 
and  the  Philip  Dufresne  of  whom  I  know  is  a  tall,  handsome, 
dark-eyed  man.  But  that  old  maid  need  not  try  for  him. 
He  could  marry  the  handsomest  girl  in  San  Francisco. ' ' 

' '  Miss  Benson  is  not  the  woman  to  '  try  for '  any  man, ' ' 
Mr.  Kendal  protested,  so  sharply  that  Miss  Sadie  fell  from 
one  surprise  into  another.  Altogether  this  had  been  an  un- 
comfortable interview.  The  Chinaman  had  been  accused  of 
stealing  the  bracelets,  and  duly  discharged  from  service;  but 
the  lover  had  failed  to  bring  her  a  new  pair  since. 

In  her  new-found  home,  all  that  tender  kindness  could 
suggest  was  done  to  make  Margaret  forget  the  past  few 
years  of  her  life.  In  her  solicitude,  Mrs.  Dufresne  spared 
herself  neither  fatigue  nor  trouble,  insisting  on  visiting 
theaters,  concerts,  opera — places  of  amusement  to  which 
Margaret  had  long  been  a  stranger.  Philip's  eyes  always 
lighted  up  with  a  strange  flash  when  she  declared,  however, 
that  to  her  no  place  seemed  so  pleasant  as  her  present  home 
- — that  she  was  never  quite  happy  away  from  it.  The  place 


2oo  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

was  worthy  her  admiration — grand  old  trees  shutting  it  in 
from  the  street,  while  a  terrace,  bright  with  conservatory  and 
gay-blooming  flowers,  overlooked  the  blue  lake,  and  a 
smooth  lawn  sloped  down  to  the  water's  edge. 

Mrs.  Dufresne  had  always  had  a  mother's  fondness  for 
Margaret,  and  her  affection  had  not  changed.  But  Philip 
Dufresne  would  not  be  satisfied  with  a  sister's  love  from  the 
girl.  Margaret's  nature  was  too  transparently  truthful  to 
conceal  from  Philip's  eye  the  sore  spot  in  her  heart;  but 
Philip  knew  that  time  would  heal  what  he  hoped  had  been 
only  a  bruise — never  a  wound. 

Fourth  of  July,  187-,  was  to  be  celebrated  with  unwonted 
splendor;  and  Mrs.  Dufresne  was  not  too  fashionable  to  in- 
sist that  they  celebrate  the  day  by  viewing  the  procession  to 
take  place  in  San  Francisco.  Philip  was  instructed  to  secure 
a  front  room  en  the  line  of  march,  their  plan  being  to  cross 
the  bay  in  the  morning,  watch  the  procession,  take  lunch, 
and  return  to  Oakland  some  time  in  the  afternoon.  To 
Mrs.  Dufresne' s  chagrin,  Margaret  wore  a  sombre  black 
dress  on  the  morning  of  the  Fourth,  though,  as  Philip  had 
predicted,  there  had  been  divers  dresses  for  her  among  those 
sent  from  Paris.  Margaret's  face  was  paler  than  it  had  been 
for  some  time. 

'  *  Are  you  sick,  child  ?  ' '  she  asked  Margaret,  in  great 
alarm.  "  Had  we  better  stay  at  home  ?  " 

But  Margaret  insisted  that  she  wore  the  black  dress  only 
because  it  would  surely  be  cold  in  San  Francisco  on  the 
Fourth  of  July;  and  they  set  out  for  the  boat,  where  they 
were  joined  by  more  friends.  It  was  a  merry  party  that 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  201 

proceeded  to  the  city  together,  and  just  enough  to  fill  both 
windows  in  the  room.  Philip  left  the  ladies  to  themselves, 
when  he  had  seen  them  all  comfortably  seated — Margaret 
alone  insisting  that  she  wanted  no  seat  by  the  window,  but 
preferred  standing  behind  Mrs.  Dufresne's  chair,  and  look- 
ing over  her  shoulder.  Perhaps  it  was  as  well  that  Philip 
had  left  the  room — Margaret  could  not  have  hidden  from 
his  keen  eyes  the  tears  that  coursed  slowly  down  her  cheeks 
and  fell  on  the  bouquet  of  white  roses  she  held  in  her  hand. 
Shout  after  shout  went  up  from  the  street  as  the  long,  showy 
train  passed  by;  band  after  band  clashed  out  its  music — 
loud  martial  strains,  or  gay  rollicking  airs.  To  Margaret 
alone  the  music  was  playing  only  dead-marches  and  funeral 
hymns;  for  she  was  burying  her  dead  to-day — deep  out  of 
sight — for  ever  and  for  aye.  And  as  her  tears  fell  faster,  the 
white  roses  in  her  hand  drooped  and  withered,  as  her  head 
was  bent  over  them,  for  she  had  decreed  that  the  sorrow 
and  the  tears  should  be  buried  with  them  to-day,  where  eye 
nor  memory  could  ever  rest  on  them  again. 

Strangely  enough,  on  the  boat  homeward  bound,  Philip's 
eye  fell  first  of  all  on  the  white  roses  in  her  hand.  They 
were  out  on  the  guards  together,  and  he  was  trying  to 
shelter  her  from  the  cold  wind  that  blew  on  the  bay. 

"What  a  sorry  bouquet  to  carry  to  Oakland,"  he  sug- 
gested. 

"  It  is  not  going  there.  I  was  only  waiting  to  reach  the 
middle  of  the  bay,  so  that  it  would  not  drift  back  to  San 
Francisco."  And,  turning,  she  flung  the  flowers  into  the 
water. 


202  A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

11  Let  us  go  in,"  she  said;  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  with  a  touch  that  thrilled  him  strangely,  when  he 
looked  hastily  into  her  smiling  face. 

The  cold  wind  that  blew  on  the  bay  did  not  reach  the 
shore.  The  closing  day  was  warm  and  balmy  in  beautiful 
Oakland,  and  Margaret  came  to  the  dinner-table  in  white, 
with  scarlet  flowers  at  her  throat  and  in  her  hair.  Mrs. 
Dufresne  was  delighted  with  this  change  from  her  morning's 
costume,  and  Philip's  eyes  spoke  volumes  of  thanks.  After 
dinner,  when  she  had  sung  Mrs.  Dufresne' s  favorite  airs, 
Margaret  passed  quietly  out  to  the  moonlit  veranda,  and 
Philip  was  soon  by  her  side. 

' '  Will  you  walk  with  me  ?  "  he  asked.  And  she  silently 
laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

The  lake  beneath  them  glittered  in  the  moonlight,  the  air 
was  heavy  with  the  odor  of  jasmine  and  heliotrope;  from 
the  open  windows  floated  the  soft  strains  that  Mrs.  Dufresne 
was  calling  forth  from  the  grand  piano,  and  all  around 
seemed  harmony  and  peace. 

Philip's  step  grew  slower. 

' '  Margaret,  you  will  give  me  my  answer  now — this 
night." 

She  bent  her  head,  but  the  moonlight  betrayed  the  flush 
on  her  face: 

1  'And  it  is — yes!" 

She  did  not  release  the  trembling  hand  he  had  seized,  and 
he  drew  her  to  his  bosom  and  held  her  in  a  close  embrace. 

"  My  darling,"  he  murmured,    "  it  was  so  long  to  wait." 

' '  You  knew  my  heart,  Philip, ' '  she  answered  softly. 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  203 

"As  true  and  faithful  a  heart  as  ever  beat  in  woman's 
breast,"  he  said,  earnestly.  Then  he  drew  her  into  the 
house.  He  knew  how  his  mother  longed  to  clasp  her  to  her 
breast  as  her  daughter. 

Days  of  busy  preparation  followed  for  Mrs.  Dufresne,  who 
often  declared,  in  comic  despair,  that  she  must  apprentice 
her  son  to  some  trade  in  San  Francisco  to  keep  him  away 
from  under  her  feet  in  Oakland. 

Margaret  did  not  forget  her  old  friend,  Mrs.  Ward;  many 
a  lovely  bouquet  of  Oakland  flowers  graced  her  center-table. 
Mr.  Kendal  was  married,  and  young  Mrs.  Kendal,  in  answer 
to  a  protest  against  her  extravagance,  had  said  that,  4 '  as 
she  had  married  the  old  fellow  for  his  money,  she  wanted 
the  pleasure  of  spending  it. ' ' 

Philip  Dufresne  had  always  liked  the  honest- hearted  miner, 
and  did  not  lose  sight  of  him  altogether.  Soon  after  his 
own  quiet  wedding  he  brought  distressing  news  to  Margaret 
about  their  old  friend.  He  was  greatly  harassed  in  mind 
and  pocket  by  the  pranks  of  his  worthless  brother-in-law, 
for  the  young  gentleman  had  carried  his  operations  into 
strange  territory  after  appropriating  as  much  of  his  father's 
funds  as  he  could  lay  hands  on.  Strangers  were  not  as 
lenient  as  his  father  and  his  brother-in-law,  and  it  required 
large  sums  to  cover  the  boy's  criminal  acts  and  save  the 
family  -from  disgrace.  Mr.  Kendal  looked  disheartened, 
Philip  said,  and  had  declared  that  a  hundred  such  mines  as 
the  Kendal  Con.  could  not  keep  his  wife  and  her  brother  in 
pocket-money. 

Sitting  by  the  window  one  bright  summer  morning  gazing 


204  <A  Miner  from  Arizona. 

idly  down  the  well-kept  walk,  Margaret  was  startled  to  see 
their  old  friend  enter  the  gate.  She  hastened  out  to  meet 
him,  extending  both  her  hands.  He  looked  so  forlorn  and 
wretched  that  it  made  her  heart  ache. 

' '  Welcome,  Mr.  Kendal ! ' '  she  cried  cordially,  and  at  the 
sound  of  her  voice  he  looked  wistfully  up  into  her  face. 

"Oh,  Margaret — Miss  Benson — Mrs.  Dufresne — what  a 
blind  fool  I  have  been!  I  deserve  all  my  trials.  I  am  not 
fit  to  be  a  white  man — I'm  worse  than  an  Indian." 

She  smiled  in  spite  of  herself  at  his  favorite  form  of  self- 
revilement;  but  she  brought  him  into  the  parlor  and  seated 
him  by  the  window,  speaking  to  him  cheerfully  to  dispel  his 
gloom. 

"It's  no  use,"  he  said;  "  I  have  come  to  bid  you  good- 
bye. You  are  the  only  friends  I  ever  had  here — you  and 
your  husband." 

He  was  going  back  to  Arizona,  he  went  on  to  say,  for  he 
was  almost  beggared,  and  was  of  no  more  use  to  himself  or 
his  young  wife.  With  empty  hands  he  would  never  return 
to  her,  for  there  were  only  slights  and  reproaches  for  him  in 
his  own  home,  though  his  fortune  had  been  sacrificed  to 
gratify  his  wife's  whims  and  save  her  brother  from  prison. 
His  fingers  strayed  nervously  through  his  grizzled  hair, 
while  he  spoke,  and  idly  plucked  at  the  tangled  beard,  and 
altogether  he  was  the  picture  of  a  man  who  saw  only  desola- 
tion and  a  waste  before  him,  where  he  had  spent  his  life's 
best  strength  to  build  him  up  a  blooming  Eden. 

Looking  upon  him,  a  great  pity  flooded  all  the  woman's 
heart,  and  she  knelt  beside  him  and  held  the  poor  awkward 


A  Miner  from  Arizona.  205 

hands  in  her  own,  speaking  words  of  comfort  and  sympathy 
that  filled  the  man's  soul  with  peace,  made  him  feel  fresh 
hope,  and  called  back  something  of  his  old  energy. 

Margaret  would  fain  have  detained  him  till  her  husband 
came,  but  Mr.  Kendal  said  he  would  bid  him  good-bye  at 
his  office,  and,  softened  and  cheered,  he  went  out  from  her 
presence. 

Months  later,  Philip  laid  his  arm  tenderly  around  his  wife's 
shoulder,  and  bade  her  read  a  paragraph  he  had  marked  in 
the  paper. 

"  The  body  of  a  man  supposed  to  be  the  once  famous  Mr.  Kendal, 
the  discoverer  of  the  mine  known  by  his  name,  was  found  on  the 
Gila  Desert,  some  ten  days  after  a  severe  sand-storm  had  been 
raging  there.  The  theory  is  that  he  had  been  laboring  under  an 
aberration  of  the  brain,  consequent  upon  great  disappointment  in 
finding  mines  he  had  meant  to  re-locate  taken  up  by  other  parties — 
otherwise  he  would  not  have  started  across  the  desert  without  other 
water  supply  than  a  small  canteen,  which  was  found  by  his  side 
empty." 

Margaret's  head  sank  on  her  husband's  shoulder,  and  he 
turned  to  kiss  away  the  tears  that  hung  on  her  dark  lashes. 

"O  faithful  heart!"  he  said;  "most  tender  of  women 
and  truest  of  wives — I  thank  God  that  you  are  mine." 


THAT  RANCH  OF  His. 


THAT  RANCH  OF  HIS. 

SHE  sat  in  the  open  door,  her  folded  hands  resting 
idly  in  her  lap,  her  eyes  fixed  absently  on  the  distant 
mountains.  It  was  the  kitchen  door,  and  it  led  directly  out 
on  the  wide,  desolate  plain.  No  garden  surrounded  the 
little  house;  no  tree  was  there  to  throw  its  lengthened 
shadow  in  the  evening's  sun.  But  the  purple  lights  and 
crimson  tints  on  the  mountain's  side  filled  the  heart  of  the 
lonely  woman  with  pure  delight.  These  mountains  are  so 
beautiful,  more  particularly  to  those  who  see  them  first  in 
spring-time,  and  when  their  own  hearts  are  rich  in  hope  and 
happiness.  To  such  they  will  always  be  fair,  even  when  the 
summer's  sun  has  scorched  the  verdure  that  clothed  them 
with  beauty,  and  hope  has  died  in  the  slow-beating  heart. 

The  silent  woman  in  the  doorway  turned  her  eyes  at  last 
from  the  deepening  shadows,  and  bent  her  head  over  her 
clasped  hands.  There  was  no  use  denying  the  fact  that  they 
ached — ached  with  hard,  unaccustomed  work;  and  when 
she  raised  her  face  again,  a  harsh  look  had  crept  into  it,  for 
in  those  few  moments  she  had  once  more  lived  through  the 
last  months  of  her  young  existence.  Not  that  any  dread 
tragedy  had  suddenly  laid  waste  her  young  life,  or  a  great 
disappointment  had  crushed  her  heart  at  one  fell  blow. 
Everything  had  come  in  so  natural  a  manner;  and  perhaps, 
she  thought,  it  was  the  doom  of  all  women  to  find  less  of 


210  That  Ranch  of  His. 

happiness  in  married  life  than  they  had  anticipated;  though 
months  ago  when  she  had  first  seen  John  Marston  in  the 
fire-lit  parlors  of  her  uncle's  house,  he  had  seemed  to  her  the 
perfection  of  all  that  was  handsome,  noble,  and  desirable  in 
man.  He  was  seated  among  a  number  of  older  men,  who 
were  attentively  listening  to  stories  about  California. 

' '  And  how  large  might  your  ranch  be,  Mr.  Marston  ? ' ' 
one  of  them  had  asked  him. 

' '  I  have  two  hundred  acres  in  wheat, ' '  was  the  reply. 

"  Do  you  keep  much  stock  ?  "  was  further  asked. 

"No;  it  is  not  a  stock-ranch.  Four  horses  can  readily 
do  the  plowing,  and  I  do  not  want  to  choke  up  the  place 
with  barns  and  stables. ' ' 

The  young  girl  had  listened  in  surprise. 

' '  Why,  Mr.  Marston,  you  talk  as  though  you  allowed 
yourself  hardly  room  enough  for  a  dwelling-house,"  she 
said. 

'  *  Indeed,  there  is  only  a  very  small  house  on  it,  built  of 
wood,  as  most  houses  in  the  country  are,  in  California." 

"Ah!  I  see,"  she  laughed— "' a  little  vine-clad  hut'; 
true-love- in-a-cottage  style." 

"Well" — he  hesitated  a  moment,  stroking  his  flowing 
beard,  then  continued  boldly,  fixing  his  gray  eyes  full  on  the 
girl's  sparkling  face — "  the  vines  are  not  grown  yet,  but  can 
soon  be  planted." 

Those  present  considered  this  the  conventional  Califor- 
nian  style  of  asking  for  a  lady's  hand  in  marriage:  he  ob- 
tained it,  at  least,  and  they  were  married  in  less  than  three 
months  from  that  date.  Then  came  their  journey  to 


That  Ranch  of  His.  211 

California  and  through  California,  till  their  own  home  was 
reached.  In  May  California  wears  her  bridal  robes,  and 
Selma's  soul  was  filled  with  joy  as  they  passed  through 
towns  where  every  house  was  surrounded  by  its  own  choicely 
planted  grounds;  and  villas  and  country  seats  literally  hid- 
den in  masses  of  gleaming  flowers  and  graceful  foliage,  while 
the  strawberries  in  the  field  vied  in  brilliancy  of  color  and 
abundance  with  the  cherries  on  the  trees.  Then  came  their 
own  distant  home. 

It  was  true,  there  was  no  vine  yet  to  cover  the  naked  little 
house;  there  was  no  garden,  no  orchard  to  be  seen.  But 
the  wild  flowers  grew  close  to  the  kitchen  door,  and  when 
Selma  crossed  the  threshold  the  little  blue  fairy-cups  seemed 
to  look  up  into  her  face,  pleading  and  consoling  at  once. 
In  the  first  half-hour  she  had  filled  every  glass  and  tumbler 
in  the  house  with  bunches  of  the  many-hued,  fragrant  wild- 
flowers,  and  when  she  complained  to  John: 

"Now,  I  have  no  more  to  discover,"  he  pointed  out 
through  the  window. 

" Those  pond  lilies — you  had  not  discovered  them,"  he 
said. 

She  gave  a  little  scream  of  delight.  "  O,  quick,  quick! 
How  shall  I  get  there?"  she  asked,  in  sudden  surprise. 
This  was  certainly  their  best  room;  and  all  at  once  she  saw 
that  there  was  no  door  except  the  one  that  led  into  the 
kitchen. 

"Go  through  the  kitchen,  and  then  around  the  house." 
It  was  the  most  natural  advice  in  the  world,  but  she  followed 
it  with  lowered  head.  Her  eyes  were  bent  toward  the 


212  That  Ranch  of  His. 

ground,  and  she  saw  the  tender  wheat-shafts  crushed  beneath 
her  feet;  but  she  did  not  see  how  rich  of  promise  the  broad 
acres  lay  before  her,  the  deep  orange  of  the  California  poppy 
flaming  out  from  the  tender  green. 

The  wheat  grew  close  up  to  the  edge  of  the  water,  and 
when  its  glitter  flashed  into  her  eyes,  and  compelled  her  to 
raise  them,  she  found  that  John  had  not  been  gallant  enough 
to  follow  her;  and  she  plucked  the  flowers  as  far  as  she  could 
reach  them,  till  her  feet  were  wet  through;  then  she  turned 
slowly  toward  the  house. 

"  What  good  will  those  foolish  things  do  you  ?  "  he  asked, 
looking  up  from  his  trunk,  in  which  he  was  hunting  for  his 
meerschaum  pipe,  the  only  article  of  luxury  he  had  brought 
out  with  him  from  ' '  the  States. "  "  Your  shoes  are  quite 
wet,  and  to-morrow  you  will  have  a  bad  cold." 

She  bit  her  lips,  and  her  head  drooped  a  moment;  but 
shaking  back  her  curls  quickly,  she  said,  laughing: 

"That's  true.  You  Californians  are  practical  people— 
and  here  comes  the  man  with  his  horses,  so  I'll  get  supper 
now,  and  you  shall  see  that  I  can  do  something  useful,  too. 
Will  you  show  me  the  hen-house  ?  I  shall  want  some  eggs 
for  cooking." 

"Hen-house!"  repeated  John:  "I  am  not  keeping  a 
chicken-ranch;  you  know  that  I  raise  wheat." 

She  studied  a  moment. 

1 '  Very  well,  but  we  have  strawberries,  I  suppose.  I  can 
do  wonderful  things  with  strawberries." 

"Strawberries!"    there  was  contempt  in  the  repitition. 

"  How  should  I  waste  my  time  on  such  stuff?     Mr.  Smith 


That  Ranch  of  His.  213 

has  a  strawberry  ranch  about  four  miles  from  here;  I  will 
speak  to  him  about  a  supply  to-morrow." 

"But,  John,"  she  persisted,  ''have  you  not  always  told 
me  that  California  is  the  land  of  flowers  and  fruit  ?  and  is  our 
ranch  alone  so  bare  of  everything  that  is  generally  found  on 
a  farm  ?  ' ' 

John  was  spared  the  answer  by  the  man's  coming  to  the 
door  to  call  him  out;  and  Selma  looked  around  disconso- 
lately a  moment  in  the  little  house  about  which  the  vines 
were  not  yet  growing. 

At  night,  when  they  sat  silently  together,  Selma  asked 
suddenly:  "  Do  you  know  what  I  miss?  The  barking  of  a 
dog.  It  gives  one  such  a  pleasant  feeling  of  safety,  out  in 
the  country,  where  everything  is  so  still  at  night.  Don't 
you  remember  old  Tiger,  on  Uncle  James's  farm  ?  When 
he  struck  up  his  deep  bark  it  always  seemed  to  me  he  was 
saying,  '  Take  your  comfort  in  your  cozy  room,  good  folks, 
I  am  here  to  see  that  no  danger  comes  near  you.'  And  we 
have  none,  you  say  ?  I  shall  miss  a  dog  very  much. ' ' 

'  *  There  are  many  things  you  will  miss  here, ' '  said  matter- 
of-fact  John,  yawning;  "  but  what  should  I  do  with  a  dog? 
When  the  wheat  is  cut  there  will  be  sheep  driven  onto  the 
stubble,  and  then  the  dog  .vould  either  worry  the  sheep  or 
fight  with  the  herder's  dogs." 

And  now  the  wheat  had  been  cut,  the  stubble  field  lay 
bleak  and  bare,  but  the  sheep  had  not  yet  come. 

The  sun  had  gone  down,  the  wind  had  risen,  and  it  made 
Selma  shiver;  but  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  enter 
the  dark  little  house  and  shut  it  out.  There  was  something 


214  That  Ranch  of  His. 

peculiar  about  the  wind  here;  it  swept  along  swiftly,  close 
above  the  surface  of  the  ground,  but  never  rising  to  any 
great  height  above  it.  It  was  sure  to  come  with  the  sinking 
of  the  sun,  if  it  did  not  set  in  before;  and  when  Selma  was 
alone,  as  she  mostly  was,  it  sang  such  strange,  weird  lays 
around  the  lonely  place,  that  she  often  joined  in,  "to  keep 
from  crying  her  eyes  out."  It  was  not  a  rude,  boisterous 
wind,  to  shake  doors  and  rattle  windows,  or  blow  the  smoke 
down  the  chimney;  but  it  "  keened  "  at  every  window,  and 
begged  and  moaned  for  admission  at  the  single  door;  and 
when  its  prayer  was  not  granted,  it  rushed  suddenly  away, 
and  the  place  grew  so  still  then  that  Selma  often  wished  she 
had  opened  both  door  and  window  to  let  it  in. 

Selma  had  closed  her  eyes  wearily  a  moment. 

'  *  How  many  years  longer  of  this  weary  life  ?  ' '  she  asked ; 
"and  then  comes  death — death  on  a  pale  horse — ah!  there 
he  comes  already."  Selma  had  been  brought  up  a  Presby- 
terian, and  while  she  strained  her  eyes  to  enjoy  the  unusual 
spectacle  of  a  handsome  vehicle  drawn  by  two  superb  horses, 
she  murmured  with  a  faint  smile,  * '  Death  on  a  pale  horse, 
and — and — something  or  other  and  eternal  punishment  fol- 
lowing in  its  train.  Poor  Aunt  Sally!  The  bible  is  still  in 
the  bottom  of  my  trunk. ' ' 

The  team  stopped  at  the  distant  fence,  the  occupant  de- 
scended to  let  down  the  bars  that  served  for  a  gate,  and  then 
drove  straight  across  the  field  toward  the  house.  Selma  had 
risen,  and  the  gentleman  sprung  quickly  to  the  ground  when 
he  saw  the  lithe,  graceful  figure  standing  by  the  doorway. 

"Mr.   Marston  is  not  at  home?"     He  spoke  with  the 


That  Ranch  of  His.  215 

slight  accent  which  Spaniards  seldom  banish  from  their 
English. 

' '  He  will  not  return  until  late,  I  fear.  If  I  can  deliver 
any  message  you  may  choose  to  leave,  I  shall  do  so  with 
much  pleasure. ' '  It  was  so  long  since  she  had  spoken  to  a 
stranger  that  she  viewed  this  one  with  some  interest;  more 
so  because  he  was  the  first  Spaniard  she  had  seen  who  was 
not  a  vaquero  or  a  sheep-herder. 

But  the  gentleman  extended  his  hand  deprecatingly. 

"O  no,  Senora;  how  could  I  trouble  a  lady  so?  I  will 
come  some  other  time.  If  you  would  kindly  tell  me  where 
I  could  find  a  vaquero  ?  I  cannot  stop  to  put  up  the  bars 
again ;  my  horses  will  not  stand  on  the  way  home. ' ' 

And  to  corroborate  his  statement  the  black  horse  snorted 
impatiently,  while  the  white  one  stamped  the  ground. 
Selma  had  quite  lost  herself  a  moment — the  horses  were 
splendid;  and  she  repeated  absently,  "  Vaquero?  There  is 
none.  We  keep  no  servant  about  the  place. ' ' 

"How?"  asked  the  Spaniard,  quickly.  "All  alone? 
Ah!  I  beg  pardon,  Senora,  a  thousand  times." 

Selma  had  recovered  herself,  and  returned  his  adieux  with 
a  haughty  bow;  but  his  last  look  rested  on  a  face  flushed 
with  anger  or  emotion. 

When  John  came  home,  earlier  than  she  had  looked  for 
him,  she  met  him  more  affectionately  than  for  some  time 
past;  she  had  spent  the  interim  wondering  whether  it  had 
sounded  like  a  complaint:  "There  is  no  servant  on  the 
place." 

"  We  have  had  a  visitor,  John — a  tall  Spaniard,  with  pale 


216  That  Ranch  of  His. 

green  face  and  dark  green  eyes;  and  oh,  such  magnificent 
horses  as  he  had! — one  coal  black,  the  other  snow  white. 
He  wanted  to  see  you;  who  can  he  be  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  must  say,"  laughed  John,  "  for  a  man  who  has 
such  an  opinion  of  his  good  looks  as  Don  Ramon  Aliso,  that 
is  not  a  very  flattering  description.  But  I  recognize  him  by 
his  horses.  He  is  our  proprietor.  He  has  another  ranch 
at  San  Diego,  where  he  has  been  for  some  time;  that  is  the 
reason  you  had  not  yet  seen  him.  I  suppose  he  came  to  see 
about  the  sheep  that  are  to  come  on  the  stubble  here. ' ' 

"What  did  you  say?"  Selma  questioned,  with  pardon- 
able curiosity.  ' '  Don  Ramon  who  ? — our  proprietor  ?  Has 
he  bought  us  ?  "  she  laughed;  ' '  and  does  he  own  us  now  ?  ' ' 

' '  At  least,  the  land  we  live  on, ' '  he  answered,  in  his  cool, 
deliberate  way,  '  *  and  all  the  other  land  as  far  as  you  can  see 
from  here." 

Selma  had  turned  pale  to  the  very  lips. 

"I  don't  understand  you,  John  Marston";  a  sudden 
hoarse  tone  in  her  voice  would  have  struck  anyone  but  her 
somewhat  phlegmatic  husband.  ' f  Speak  plainly.  Are  you 
bankrupt  ?  Have  I  made  a  poor  man  of  you  so  soon  by  my 
ignorance  of  household  management  and  ranch  affairs  ? 
Have  you  been  obliged  to  sell  your  ranch  ?  ' ' 

' '  Obliged  to  sell  ?  "  he  repeated  as  he  turned  slowly 
towards  her.  "Why,  what  stuff  you  talk.  It  never  be- 
longed to  me.  I  should  have  to  be  a  man  of  considerable 
means  to  buy  land  at  seventy-five  and  a  hundred  dollars  an 
acre,  as  they  hold  it  here.  Later,  if  I  have  good  crops  for 
two  or  three  years  longer,  we  will  go  further  south,  where 


That  Ranch  of  His.  217 

they  don't  ask  a  man's  whole  fortune  for  an  acre  of  land. 
Or  it  may  be  that  I  can  buy  some  of  this,  after  a  while;  Don 
Ramon  is  head  and  ears  in  debt,  like  all  Spaniards.  His 
American  friends  will  take  good  care  that  he  shall  not  re- 
main a  wealthy  Spaniard  long;  and  if  the  land  ever  goes  at 
sheriff's  sale,  I  may  get  a  piece  cheap.  And  it  is  good 
land,"  he  went  on,  musing  to  himself,  ' *  particularly  for 
wheat. ' '  With  that  he  lighted  his  pipe,  and  made  himself 
comfortable  in  the  large  rocking-chair. 

On  Selma's  cheeks  there  flamed  a  dark  red  spot,  that 
contrasted  ominously  with  the  pallor  just  now  covering  her 
face. 

Before  John  left  the  house  next  morning,  he  wanted  to 
charge  her  with  a  message  for  Don  Ramon,  in  case  he 
should  return. 

' '  I  beg  of  you  to  hunt  him  up  yourself, ' '  she  interrupted 
him  impatiently,  "  I  cannot  bear  the  man." 

' '  But,  Selma,  how  unreasonable  you  are.  Don  Ramon 
is  the  best  fellow  in  the  world, and  all  his  tenants  will  tell  you  so. 
If  ever  the  crops  fail,  he  does  not  stand  on  his  share  of 
wheat,  but  lets  us  have  the  whole  harvest  for  seed,  and  never 
presses  for  his  money.  I  tell  you  there  are  not  many  land- 
lords like  him  to  be  found." 

Selma  was  silent,  pressing  her  lips  together  till  they  were 
white,  and  seemed  hardly  to  hear  what  John  said. 

Again,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  she  had  a  visitor — the 
pastor  of  the  Presbyterian  flock  of  the  neighboring  town.  A 
slim  figure,  delicate  face,  faultless  dress,  and  gold  eye-glasses 
had  earned  for  the  Rev.  Mr.  McBetts  the  name  of  the 


2i8  That  Ranch  of  His. 

"dandy  minister."  He  was  a  well-meaning  man,  however; 
in  point  of  education  far  in  advance  of  most  of  his  church 
members,  and  never  tired  of  gathering  new  sheep  to  his  fold. 
Perhaps  Selma  had  not  succeeded  in  fixing  a  meek  and  pa- 
tient expression  on  her  face  after  a  sleepless  night,  during 
which  a  thousand  hard,  indignant  thoughts  had  chased  each 
other  through  her  brain;  and  perhaps  her  demeanor  was  not 
as  lamb-like  as  a  minister  might  have  thought  proper.  At 
all  events,  on  returning  home,  Mr.  McBetts  called  straight- 
way for  his  sister  Almira.  She  was  something  of  an  old 
maid,  but  loved  her  brother  with  her  whole  heart,  and  the 
rest  of  mankind  as  much  as  she  could. 

"I  need  your  assistance,"  he  said  to  her.  "That  man 
Marston  has  brought  home  a  jewel  of  a  wife,  and  she  must 
join  our  congregation.  It  is  just  what  we  need;  she  plays 
both  piano  and  organ,  sings  like  an  angel — I  can  tell  from 
her  face — and  has  the  air  of  a  duchess;  but  that  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it, ' '  he  corrected  himself.  * '  There  is  something, 
however,  I  cannot  fathom;  you  must  come  with  me  and  find 
out  for  yourself.  The  woman  is  unhappy  about  something, 
I  know." 

Almira  propped  her  pointed  chin  with  her  pointed  index 
finger.  "  H'm — I  don't  quite  like  that;  it  sounds  too  much 
like  the  beginning  of  a  romance,  and  we  have  had  enough 
of  that  sort  of  thing,  the  Lord  knows.  It  isn't  quite  a  month 
since  the  graceless  Greenwich  went  off  with  that  worthless 
fellow,  leaving  her  helpless  child  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
her  husband.  You  used  to  think,  too,  that  the  poor  woman 
was  unhappy — the  minx,  with  her  silly  airs  and  graces!  " 


That  Ranch  of  His.  219 

"  Well,  well,  wait  till  you  have  seen  Mrs.  Marston."  A 
light  flush  had  suffused  the  young  man's  face;  but  he  knew 
that  a  serious  word  from  him  would  silence  his  sister' s  sharp 
tongue. 

She  saw  Mrs.  Marston  the  very  next  day;  and  when  the 
horse's  head  had  hardly  been  turned  away  from  Marston' s 
door,  Almira  broke  out  with  ill-concealed  triumph: 

"  I  know  it  all;  I  knew  I  should  if  I  could  see  her  myself 
for  just  five  minutes.  But  you  are  right,  she  is  not  that  kind 
of  a  woman,  at  all." 

' '  Well  ? ' '  asked  her  brother,  with  more  of  interest  than 
curiosity. 

"Well,"  she  repeated,  "  cannot  you  see  that  she  is  ter- 
ribly disappointed  ?  Whether  he  deceived  her,  or  whether 
she  deceived  herself,  I  have  not  yet  determined,  but  she  is 
terribly  unhappy.  You  see  what  a  haughty  piece  she  is; 
see  her  taper  fingers  and  her  dainty  ways;  fancy  that  she 
came  to  California  as.  the  mistress  of  a  large  ranch,  well  fixed, 
and  instead  she  sits  helpless  and  alone  on  that  cheerless  piece 
of  land.  O,  she  need  not  try  to  fool  me;  she  thinks  she  told 
me  nothing;  she  would  suffer  "the  rack  before  she'd  com- 
plain, but  I  can  look  right  through  her  pride." 

"  Poor  woman!  "  said  the  brother  compassionately. 

"Yes,"  assented  the  sister,  carelessly;  "but  she's  coming 
to  church  next  Sunday,  and  she'll  play  the  organ,  she  says. 
I  am  going  to  take  her  home  from  church  with  us  to  dinner, 
just  to  show  that  stupid  Mrs.  Henderson  that  her  reign  is 
over.  She'll  turn  yellow  with  envy." 

Her  brother  hardly  heard  the  words;  she  was  not  so  bad 


220  That  Ranch  of  His. 

on  the  whole;  her  charity  reached  as  far  as  her  tongue,  he 
used  to  say  in  her  vindication;  no  living  thing  within  her 
circle  suffered  hunger  or  cold,  but  she  had  a  chronic  dislike 
for  young,  pretty  women. 

The  following  Sunday  was  perfect,  and  Selma,  after  hav- 
ing played  the  organ  and  sung  'Mike  an  angel,"  to  the  sat- 
isfaction and  pleasure  of  both  brother  and  sister,  was  assisted 
into  the  minister's  carriage  by  Almira,  while  that  lady  her- 
self afterwards  clambered  into  John  Marston's  less  elegant 
vehicle. 

The  home  of  the  McBetts,  Casa  Laguna,  lay  at  a  short 
distance  from  the  hastily  built-up  little  town;  and  the  waving 
of  trees — groups  of  silver-shafted  birch,  the  spreading  syca- 
more, and  somber  cypress — and  the  sight  of  green  lawn  were 
balm  to  Selmar's  spirit  and  drink  to  her  thirsty  soul;  it 
soothed  and  calmed  her  more  than  the  sermon  or  the  hymns 
had  been  able  to  do.  She  drew  a  deep  breath  as  they  en- 
tered the  gateway. 

11  How  like  entering  Paradise  this  seems  to  me,"  she  said, 
' '  after  living  these  long  months  on  that  wretchedly  bare,  dry 
stretch  of  land.  It  was  not  so  bad  in  the  spring,  but  now  it 
is  horrible;  I  shall  go  mad,  I  believe";  her  face  was  aflame; 
the  blue  eyes  flashed  and  her  clear  voice  trembled,  but  she 
recovered  herself  when  she  saw  the  young  man's  eyes  rest 
with  tender  pity  on  her  face. 

A  hoarse  cry  far  above  them  gave  him  the  welcome 
means  of  turning  the  conversation. 

"Look  at  it,"  he  said;  "that  is  the  bird  of  prey  from 
which  these  mountains  take  their  name — Gabilan  Range. 


That  Ranch  of  His.  221 

You  may  travel  the  mountain  the  whole  day  through,  and 
its  monotonous  cry  will  fall  on  your  ears  just  like  that — al- 
ways far  off,  never  changing  or  coming  nearer,  no  matter 
how  long  you  follow  it.  The  man,  an  American,  to  whom 
the  land  on  that  mountain  belongs  is  never  called  anything 
but  "Senor  Gabilan"  by  the  Spanish  people.  Perhaps 
they  think  him  of  rather  a  grasping  disposition — I  don't 
know.  But  I  am  told  that  no  Spaniard  shakes  hands  with 
him;  they  open  and  shut  their  own  hand  quickly,  like  this, 
while  addressing  him,  just  as  the  hawk  is  known  to  fasten 
his  talons  on  his  prey." 

We  must  presume  that  the  reverend  gentleman  told  the 
story  merely  to  draw  Selma's  thoughts  away  from  herself; 
otherwise  it  would  hardly  have  been  fair  in  him  to  speak  of 
Americans  with  grasping  disposition  without  mentioning  his 
own  honored  progenitor.  He  had  said  to  Selma,  when  she 
went  into  raptures  at  the  first  distant  glimpse  of  Casa  Lag- 
una,  that  their  place  seemed  so  much  more  home-like,  be- 
cause it  had  been  under  cultivation  longer  than  any  other 
American  residence  in  the  valley,  as  his  father  had  come  in 
possession  of  it,  by  a  lucky  chance,  at  quite  an  early  day. 

Perhaps  the  dear  old  gentleman  had  never  told  his  son 
what  that  ' '  lucky  chance ' '  was. 

More  than  ten  years  before,  and  when  all  the  land  from 
the  Salinas  valley  to  the  coast  was  still  in  the  possession  of  a 
few  Spaniards,  a  party  of  Americans  passed  through  the 
country  to  see  what  could  be  made  of  it.  * '  A  party  of 
Americans  traveling  through  the  country,"  they  were 
warmly  welcomed  and  hospitably  entertained  at  the  different 


222  That  Ranch  of  His. 

ranches  which  lay  thinly  scattered,  extending  for  leagues  to- 
gether over  hill  and  plain.  One  old  Spaniard,  who  boasted 
of  his  descent  from  the  Hidalgos,  thought  his  establishment 
— an  ancient  adobe  in  which  his  fathers  had  lived  before  him 
— not  luxurious  enough  for  the  comfort  of  hs  Americanos, 
and  rode  across  country  to  Monterey,  to  procure  the  means 
of  furnishing  entertainment  for  his  guests  that  would  not  dis- 
honor his  ancient  name.  Even  at  that  time  there  were 
Americans  in  Monterey  who  knew  well  the  value  of  the  lands 
so  loosely  held  by  these  ' '  greasers, ' '  whose  trusting  nature, 
improvident  ways,  and  childlike  simplicity  in  business  mat- 
ters, were  alike  taken  advantage  of  by  the  keen  Yankee.  It 
was  an  old  story,  how,  after  a  few  paltry  sums  of  money  re- 
ceived from  his  American  friend,  the  poor  greaser  would 
suddenly  find  himself  a  beggar  before  his  own  door,  and  his 
leagues  of  land  transferred — with  all  the  formalities  which 
the  American  law  (a  sealed  book  to  him)  requires — to  the 
man  who  had  so  kindly  advanced  him  money.  So  in  the 
case  of  poor  old  Don  Domingo  Sanchez.  One  of  the  party 
whom  he  had  so  lavishly  entertained,  the  good  Mr.  McBetts, 
had  bought  the  mortgage  of  the  man  who  had  furnished  the 
money  to  the  Don  for  his  entertainment;  and  with  the  great- 
est equanimity  he  took  possession  of  the  entire  ranch,  the 
memorable  old  adobe  house  included.  Senor  Domingo 
Sanchez  died  later,  in  Monterey,  the  gray  old  city  by  the 
sea,  which  so  much  resembled  these  poor  old  Dons — fallen 
in  state  and  fortune,  but  unbroken,  both,  in  their  pride. 

The  day  after  this  pleasant  visit  to   Casa  Laguna,  Selma 
had  all  her  good  humor  destroyed  at  one  stroke  when  she 


That  Ranch  of  His. 

saw  the  Spaniard  with  the  pale  green  face  and  dark  green 
eyes  enter  the  house.  Her  face  grew  more  flushed  than  it 
had  become  from  the  kitchen  fire  over  which  she  was  bend- 
ing, when  it  darted  through  her  brain  that  again  he  saw  how 
she  was  without  a  servant  on  the  place.  She  shook  her 
curls  back  quickly  from  her  face,  and  met  him  haughtily  on 
the  threshold. 

* '  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons, ' '  he  said  humbly,  when  he 
saw  the  peculiar  flash  in  her  dark  blue  eyes,  '  *  but  this  has 
always  been  a  favorite  spot  of  the  ranch  with  me,  and  before 
Mr.  Marston  had  a  wife  I  often  came  here." 

"  Which  you  had  an  unquestioned  right  to  do,"  was  the 
ungracious  reply.  "  So  far  as  I  understand,  this  land  and 
all  the  rest  belongs  to  you,  pretty  much. 

He  had  stepped  back  to  the  open  door.  "  All  of  it,"  he 
affirmed;  "from  the  mountains  to  the  group  of  trees  you 
see  yonder;  and  from  the  end  of  the  mountain  chain  to  the 
south  as  far  as  you  can  see. ' ' 

He  had  lifted  his  hand  and  the  noonday  rays  were  caught 
in  the  glittering  ruby  on  his  finger,  and  as  he  moved  his 
hand  hither  and  thither,  drops  of  transparent  blood  seemed 
trickling  over  Selma's  light  cotton  dress.  She  laid  her 
hand  over  her  eyes  a  moment. 

"It  dazzles  one  so,"  she  said;  and  when  she  removed 
her  hand,  she  saw  the  devouring  gaze  of  the  Spaniard 
fastened  on  her  face;  and  the  sun  that  painted  golden  rings 
on  her  hair  seemed  to  kindle  a  flickering  fire  in  his  deep-set 
eyes. 

When  the  Rev.  Mr.  McBetts  with  his  sister  came,  later  in 


224  That  Ranch  of  His. 

the  day,  Selma  had  an  insane  idea  of  imploring  Almira  to 
take  her  away  with  her.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  been  exposed 
to  a  scorching  fire,  and  that  safety  and  relief  could  only  be 
found  in  the  atmosphere  of  this  cold,  practical  nature.  She 
grew  irritable  at  the  thought  that  the  hated  name  of  the 
Spaniard  must  again  be  mentioned  between  John  and  her- 
self, and  the  impulse  was  strong  on  her  to  leave  the  lone 
little  house  forever. 

4 '  I  wish  we  could  have  taken  her  with  us, ' '  said  the 
brother,  as  he  cast  a  lingering  look  back  from  the  buggy  to 
the  kitchen  door,  where  Selma  stood  wistfully  looking  after 
them.  "  She  needed  comfort  and  companionship  to-day,  if 
ever  in  her  life,  I  know. ' ' 

"  And  who  should  have  gotten  Mr.  Marston's  supper? " 
asked  the  sister.  *  *  They  don' t  even  keep  a  Chinaman  to 
do  the  housework.  It's  a  lonesome  place,  to  be  sure;  but 
there  is  work  enough  to  do  to  make  her  forget  it." 

Soon  after,  the  oft-announced  sheep  were  at  last  driven  on 
the  stubble;  and  then  it  was  less  lonesome;  for  Selma 
watched  the  herd  and  herders  many  an  idle  hour.  She  had 
never  in  her  life  seen  so  many  sheep,  though  her  Uncle 
James  was  called  a  large  farmer  in  Missouri,  and  had  owned 
some  fifty  field-hands  before  the  war. 

The  vaqueros  claimed  her  attention  above  all  things. 
"It's  as  good  as  a  circus,"  she  said,  laughing,  to  John,  "to 
watch  them.  And  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid  of  them,  though 
they  might  stand  models  for  Italian  banditti." 

It  is  said  of  the  Spaniards — the  Mexicans,  rather — that 
they  excel  in  the  management  and  care  of  sheep;  and  it 


That  Ranch  of  His.  225 

seemed  almost  superfluous  that  Don  Ramon  should  give 
such  close  attention  to  this  band.  Yet  hardly  a  day  passed 
that  he  did  not  visit  them,  though  he  did  not  always  leave 
his  buggy  or  dismount  from  his  horse;  and  he  seldom  ap- 
proached John  Marston's  door. 

One  night  when  the  wind  had  been  sobbing  louder  than 
ever  at  door  and  window,  Selma  was  startled  by  a  knock 
and  the  unexpected  appearance  of  Don  Ramon  on  the 
threshold.  There  was  no  invitation  extended  him  to  enter; 
she  only  said  curtly,  ' c  Mr.  Marston  is  not  at  home. ' ' 

"I  know  it,"  he  answered;  but  added  hastily,  when  he 
saw  the  sudden  flash  he  so  dreaded  in  her  eyes,  ' '  it  is  he 
who  sent  me." 

"You  are  welcome,"  she  said  more  gently.  She  read  in 
his  eyes  that  he  wanted  to  say,  ' '  Pobrecita!  It  is  wrong  to 
leave  a  delicate  woman  alone  in  this  wilderness."  But  aloud 
he  said: 

' '  The  wind  that  you  hear  howling  without  heralds  the 
rain ;  and  Mr.  Marston,  with  more  of  my  tenants,  has  repaired 
to  the  river,  where  the  water  dammed  itself  last  year.  They 
have  taken  a  number  of  my  laborers  with  them;  and  Mr. 
Marston  has  requested  me  to  say  that  it  might  be  late  before 
he  could  return.  I  shall  stay  here  till  he  comes;  but  can  seat 
myself  on  the  bench  outside  if  I  am  in  your  way  here. ' ' 

Her  generous  heart  smote  her  as  though  she  had  accused 
a  fellow-being  of  wrong. 

1 '  No,  certainly  not, ' '  she  said,  "  I  am  very  glad  of  your 
company." 

She  offered  him  refreshment,  knowing  that  he  must  have 


226  That  Ranch  of  His. 

been  out  in  the  saddle  a  long  time,  but  he  declined  as  usual; 
Don  Ramon  had  never  tasted  meat  nor  drink  in  John  Mars- 
ton's  house.  But  when  he  found  her  thus  tractable  and  in 
good  humor,  he  ventured  one  step  farther.  Would  she  not 
sing  for  him,  as  she  often  did  when  she  was  all  alone? 

A  quick  glance  from  the  haughty  eyes  cautioned  him,  and 
he  added  in  explanation: 

"  I  know  of  your  singing  from  my  vaqueros;  the  rascals 
have  really  aesthetic  tastes,  though  their  rough  looks  may 
detract  from  my  assertion." 

Without  more  ado  Selma  sang — not«  for  him  or  to  him 
though,  for  she  had  soon  forgotten  that  any  one  was  listen- 
ing to  her.  She  sang  song  after  song,  her  eyes  straying  out 
through  the  uncurtained  window,  where  the  fire  of  the 
vaqueros  was  burning,  and  the  Gabilan  Mountains,  rose  in 
dim  outlines  against  the  dark  sky  when  the  fire  grew  low. 
And  when  she  sang  of  the  woman  who  had  forfeited  honor 
and  home  to  follow  her  false  lover,  the  door  was  suddenly 
opened  and  John  Marston  stood  on  the  threshold,  wet 
through  and  shaking  the  water  off  his  hat — for  the  first  rain 
of  the  season  had  set  in,  and  the  two  people  in  the  narrow 
little  room  had  known  nothing  of  it. 

Selma  sprang  to  meet  him. 

"  How  long  you  have  been,  John!  it  has  been  so  still  and 
lonesome. ' ' 

4 'What!  has  Don  Ramon  entertained  you  so  poorly?" 
he  asked. 

"Don  Ramon!"  she  repeated;   "ah!  yes;  I  had  forgot- 


That  Ranch  of  His.  227 

' '  That  he  was  here  ?  ' '  laughed  John.  ' '  My  dear  friend, ' ' 
he  turned  to  the  Spaniard,  "what  conquests  you  may  make 
among  the  rest  of  the  sex  I  don't  know.  This  lady  has 
never  been  smitten.  First  she  describes  you  as  a  tall  Span- 
iard with  light  green  face  and  dark  green  eyes;  next  she  de- 
clares she  can't  bear  the  sight  of  you;  and  now  she  has  even 
forgotten  that  you  are  in  the  same  room  with  her." 

His  own  boisterous  mirth  prevented  him  from  noting  that 
the  others  did  not  join  in  his  merriment.  The  Spaniard  had 
risen  and  stood  stiff  and  rigid,  his  olive  face  blanched,  his 
lips  compressed;  while  Selma  so  busied  herself  in  getting 
supper  for  her  husband  that  she  did  not  even  take  time  to 
shake  back  from  her  face  the  heavy  curls  that  almost  con- 
cealed it. 

The  next  was  the  first  rainy  day  of  the  season,  and  the 
herders  and  vaqueros  were  much  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
house;  for  though  the  sheep  were  scattered  over  many  hun- 
dred acres  outside  of  John  Marston's  place,  the  herders' 
headquarters  had  always  been  near  his  house.  John  Mar- 
ston  himself  was  standing  in  his  door,  looking  idly  on,  when 
a  vaqaero  dashed  up  to  tell  him  that  the  water  had  again 
dammed  itself  in  the  river,  and  that  Don  Ramon  requested 
Mr.  Marston  to  engineer  the  clearing  away  of  the  obstruc- 
tion. Drawing  on  his  rubber  boots  and  throwing  his  water- 
proof over  his  shoulders,  he  started  out  at  once. 

Shortly  after,  Selma  came  to  the  door,  water-bucket  in 
hand,  and  looked  disconsolately  into  the  rain.  The  artesian 
well  was  two  hundred  yards  away,  and  the  black  mud  ankle- 
deep.  There  was  not  a  splinter  of  dry  wood  in  the  house, 


228  That  Ranch  of  His. 

either,  and  bread  to  bake  and  shirts  to  iron.  She  was  just 
debating  within  herself  the  propriety  of  throwing  the  bucket 
as  far  as  she  could  send  it,  and  herself  on  the  floor  for  a  good 
cry,  when  she  heard  the  heavy  splash  of  a  horse's  feet  from 
behind  the  house. 

"Ah!  John  has  thought  of  his  delinquencies  and  has  come 
back.  Good  John — ' '  mentally  patting  his  broad  shoulders. 

She  was  giving  John  too  much  credit,  however:  it  was 
Pedro,  the  fiercest-looking  brigand  of  them  all,  who  made  a 
sudden  dash  around  the  corner.  In  her  trepidation  she  had 
commenced  the  journey  to  the  well,  and  now  stood  helpless, 
one  slipper  on  her  foot,  the  other  imbedded  in  the  tough 
black  loam.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  Pedro  had  sprung 
from  his  horse,  lifted  her  light  as  a  feather  back  into  the 
kitchen,  and  placed  the  bucket,  filled,  beside  her.  Before 
she  could  express  her  thanks,  half  a  dozen  other  vaqueros 
had  made  their  appearance  in  answer  to  his  shrill  call,  and 
after  a  brief  consultation  they  all  galloped  to  the  fence  where 
it  was  nearest  the  house.  Without  dismounting,  they  each 
fastened  their  lariat  around  the  top  board  of  the  fence,  gave 
a  long  pull,  a  strong  pull,  a  pull  altogether,  and  off  came 
the  board  with  a  crash.  The  maneuver  was  repeated  till 
they  had  sufficient  planking,  which  they  hauled  to  the  house 
by  winding  the  lariat  around  each  separate  load,  and  fasten- 
ing the  end  to  the  saddle-horn.  Then  they  made  a  pave- 
ment of  it  in  front  of  the  "kitchen  door,  and  laid  a  dry  walk 
to  the  well — much  to  Selma's  astonishment  and  fright;  what 
would  John  and  Don  Ramon  say  to  see  expensive  fencing 
destroyed  in  that  way  ?  She  expressed  this  fear  when  she 


That  Ranch  of  His.  229 

thanked  Pedro  for  his  attention;  but  the  vaquero,  lifting  his 
shabby  hat  with  the  grandezza  that  the  most  ragged  of  them 
can  assume,  said  courteously: 

"  O,  Senora,  the  Padrone  would  tear  down  the  entire  fenc- 
ing of  the  whole  Sandia  Rancho  before  he  would  allow  the 
Senora  to  place  her  foot  on  the  cold,  wet  ground." 

And  never  did  Selma  have  to  set  her  foot  on  the  cold,  wet 
ground  again.  To  Mr.  John  Marston's  great  joy,  this  fero- 
cious Indian-faced  fellow  suddenly  developed  all  the  best 
traits  of  a  well-trained  house  servant;  and  not  a  drop  of 
water  or  stick  of  kindling-wood  did  John  have  to  provide 
while  the  sheep  were  on  the  stubble. 

Selma' s  church  attendance  had  ceased  with  the  setting  in 
of  the  rain,  for  there  was  only  a  little  open  wagon  on  the 
ranch.  Sister  Almira  was  subject  to  neuralgia,  and  would 
not  venture  across  country  in  wet  weather,  so  that  the  young 
minister  had  to  make  his  visits  alone.  Selma  had  not  yet 
joined  the  church;  and  after  meeting  the  Spaniard  at  the 
Marstons'  house  once  or  twice  he  expressed  his  apprehension 
lest  Selma  should  join  the  Catholics. 

"It  would  jnot  be  for  your  husband's  best  interests,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Marston,"  he  advised  her.  "  The  Catholics  have 
no  influence  whatever  in  this  part  of  the  country,  and  the 
congregation  is  composed  almost  entirely  of  the  Spanish 
and  low  Irish  population.  And  besides,  what  lady  would 
want  to  be  seen  of  a  Sunday  entering  the  old  barn  which 
they  had  turned  into  a  church  ?  ' ' 

He  did  not  understand,  as  did  the  Spaniard,  the  sudden 
flash  in  Selma' s  eye,  and  he  heard  only  a  very  pardonable 


230  That  Ranch  of  His. 

affectation  of  Christian  humility  in  the  answer  that  came  a 
few  moments  later: 

11  God  knows  that  I  think  the  lowliest  place  devoted  to  His 
worship  too  good  for  a  poor  erring  mortal  like  myself  to 
enter;  and  my  conscience  tells  me  that  I  am  not  fit  to  be- 
come a  member  of  any  religious  congregation." 

Satisfied  that  Selma  did  not  mean  to  become  a  Catholic, 
he  trusted  to  luck — "God's  own  good  time,"  he  said — for 
the  rest. 

Whenever  the  Spaniard  met  the  young  man  at  John  Mar- 
ston's,  his  eyes  followed  him  as  the  eyes  of  the  panther  fol- 
low his  prey;  and  he  always  maintained  on  such  occasions 
that  he  neither  spoke  nor  understood  a  word  of  English. 

For  John  Marston  these  were  busy  times.  Down  by  the 
river  Don  Ramon  had  leased  to  him  one  hundred  acres 
more,  at  a  really  trifling  rate.  The  land  lay  in  rather  an  in- 
convenient location,  and  so  far  from  the  house  that  he  had 
built  himself  a  little  shanty  on  it  to  shelter  him  through  the 
night:  when  the  rain  was  incessant,  roads  were  too  heavy  to 
travel  in  the  dark.  But  the  prospects  were  fair  for  a  good 
crop.  "And  then,"  he  said,  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his 
pipe,  ' '  we  will  go  farther  south,  where  they  raise  olives  and 
oranges,  and  all  the  fancy  things  that  cost  so  much  money, 
and  that  you  women  so  hanker  after. ' ' 

Selma' s  pale  face  grew  still  whiter  as  he  said  it,  and  her 
voice  was  broke  by  a  sob  as  she  answered,  "  Yes,  John,  cer- 
tainly." 

John's  natural  phlegm  must  have  grown  into  positive  ob- 
tuseness  of  late,  or  he  most  certainly  would  have  noticed  the 


That  Ranch  of  His.  231 

change  in  Selma's  manner  and  appearance.  There  was  a 
restlessness  in  her  eyes  that  made  them  gleam  out  darkly 
from  the  slender  white  face,  and  her  voice  was  harsh  and 
tender  by  turns,  as  though  she  were  never  in  the  same  frame 
of  mind  two  minutes  together.  Perhaps  that  she  felt  more 
lonesome  than  ever;  for  the  sheep  had  been  driven  back  into 
the  mountains,  and  when  she  looked  from  the  window  now 
at  night  she  saw  only  impenetrable  darkness,  where  the  fire 
of  the  vaqueros  had  lately  been  shining.  Since  the  rains 
had  ceased,  the  wind  had  found  its  way  back  to  the  lone 
little  house,  and  came  rushing  up  to  the  door  again,  where 
it  cried  and  moaned  to  be  let  in.  The  new  grass  had  clothed 
mountain  and  plain  with  robes  of  hopeful  green,  and  the 
meadow-lark  climbed  upward  on  its  waves  of  song. 

But  in  Selma's  heart  there  was  neither  hope  nor  spring 
nor  sunshine.  It  was  as  if  the  storms  of  winter,  that  had 
raged  and  torn  through  the  mountain- clefts,  had  found  an 
abiding  echo  in  her  breast.  And  often,  when  at  the  close  of 
day  a  pale  shadow  moved  by  like  a  phantom  where  those 
brigand  vaqueros  had  broken  away  the  fence  of  the  ranch, 
she  clasped  her  hands  to  her  heart  and  implored  wildly  and 
incoherently,  "Lead  us  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  us 
from  evil;  for  Death  comes  riding  on  a  pale  horse,  and  hell 
and  eternal  punishment  follow  in  his  wake." 

And  one  night  the  phantom  moved  close  up  to  the  lone 
little  house  lying  all  unguarded  on  the  open  plain,  and  the 
shadow  grew  dark  on  the  threshold  of  John  Marston's 
home.  With  a  fainting  heart  Selma  passed  across  it.  "  It 
has  been  no  home  to  me,"  she  said  with  a  shiver;  "the 


232  That  Ranch  of  His. 

dreary,  desolate  place  where  no  living  being  gave  me  love 
or  sympathy — save  one." 

Before  her  stood  Don  Ramon's  light  carriage — the  same 
in  which  she  had  seen  him  first,  many  months  ago — and  the 
horses  she  had  so  admired  stamped  and  pawed  the  ground, 
as  though  counseling  dispatch.  The  Spaniard's  arms  were 
outstretched  to  lift  her  into  the  vehicle,  but  with  sudden  pas- 
sion he  motioned  her  back. 

"  Not  with  that  shawl  on  you — the  wedding-gift  of  John 
Marston!  Throw  back  hat  and  shawl,  and  all  your  finery, 
into  the  house.  I  bade  you  wear  your  meanest  dress; 
Ramon  Aliso  can  himself  afford  to  dress  you." 

As  in  a  dream,  she  turned  back  to  the  house  to  fling  from 
her  the  offending  shawl;  but  the  long  silken  fringe  twined 
stubbornly  around  her  fingers,  the  door  escaped  her  grasp, 
and  the  wind  hurled  itself  wildly  into  the  room,  filling  all  the 
house  with  sobs  and  wailing. 

"Hasten,  love,  hasten,"  came  in  dulcet  tones  from  the 
carriage,  and  with  compressed  lips  Selma  turned  forever 
from  John  Marston' s  dishonored  home. 

"Let  the  dark  night  and  the  wild  winds  take  possession," 
she  muttered;  "  he  will  not  suffer  as  I  have  suffered,  for  he 
has  never  loved  me,  and  has  no  heart  to  break." 

The  next  moment  soft  furs  were  wrapped  about  her,  and 
strong  arms  held  her  in  a  close  embrace,  while  the  horses 
dashed  on,  as  if  conscious  that  they  must  bear  to  a  place  of 
safety  a  costly  stolen  treasure.  She  struggled  to  free  her- 
self, moaning  bitterly: 

"  Oh,  the  sin  and  the  shame  of  it  all!     Had  I  a  mother 


That  Ranch  of  His.  233 

with  whom  to  take  refuge,  or  a  brother  to  give  me  a  home, 
it  would  never  have  come  to  this.  But  now — lost!  lost! 
lost!" 

He  spoke  to  her  soothingly,  as  one  speaks  a  child  to 
rest.  "  Do  not  speak  so  wildly.  You  are  my  only  love, 
and  in  a  year's  time  you  shall  be  my  wife,  for  divorces  can 
be  obtained  for  money  among  los  Americanos;  and  if  all 
should  fail  you  would  still  be  my  only  love,  and  mistress  of 
all  my  estate  your  whole  life  long." 

She  uttered  a  scream,  and  pressed  closer  to  him. 

' '  We  are  pursued !  I  will  never  live  through  the  dis- 
grace and  the  scandal — ' ' 

Again  he  spoke  soothingly: 

"It  is  only  Pedro,  the  vaquero — who  so  admires  you, 
and  who  would  stab  that  clumsy  gringo  to  death  before  he 
would  let  him  get  possession  of  you  again.  Be  tranquil, 
love,  we  are  not  pursued. ' ' 

Who,  then,  is  the  man  with  set,  white  face,  on  sweat- 
reeking  horse,  following  in  dread  silence  the  carriage  tracks 
that  lead  from  his  very  door  ?  Hour  after  hour  passes  by, 
and  when  the  Spaniard,  accompanied  by  his  grim  body- 
guard, draws  up  in  his  elegant  vehicle  before  the  door  of  the 
little  hotel  in  a  distant  town,  the  worn-out  horse  of  the 
pursuing  rider  breaks  down  beneath  him;  and  as  Don 
Ramon  is  about  to  lift  his  half-fainting  companion  out  of  the 
buggy,  a  heavy  hand  is  laid  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Draw  your  pistol,  accursed  villain,"  said  John  Marston, 
in  a  low  voice  still  as  death,  "  and  let  that  woman  find  her 
way  into  the  house  alone. ' ' 


234  That  Ranch  of  His. 

The  face  that  the  Spaniard  turned  to  him  was  pale  and 
unmoved  as  his  own;  only  a  slight  quiver  of  the  thin  nostril 
spoke  of  the  passion  raging  within  him.  Pedro  had  quickly 
approached  his  master;  he  let  Selma's  inanimate  form  glide 
into  his  arms,  and  turned  with  flaming  eyes  to  his  enemy. 

* '  You  have  no  pistol  ?  Then  I  will  throw  away  mine 
too!"  John  Marston  flung  his  heavy  weapon  across  the 
street.  "Now  come  on,  with  your  fists!  Ha!  Put  that 
knife  away,  cowardly  Spanish  dog — "  He  threw  himself 
forward  to  wrest  it  from  his  antagonist's  grasp;  but  he  was 
blind  with  fury,  and  the  next  moment  he  fell  back — a  deep 
gash  in  his  forehead,  running  upward  till  it  made  its  way 
into  the  heavy  masses  of  his  tawny  hair. 

A  dozen  men  sprang  from  the  bar-room  of  the  hotel, 
each  more  anxious  than  the  other  to  see  who  and  how 
many  had  been  killed.  Among  them  was  the  sheriff  of  the 
county — a  Spaniard — and  to  him  Don  Ramon  explained,  in 
a  few  whispered  words,  the  state  of  affairs.  Then  that 
official  turned  indignantly  to  the  waiting  crowd. 

"Just  to  think,  amigos,  what  a  dangerous  man  that 
gringo  is;  he  actually  attacked  my  friend  Don  Ramon  with 
a  pistol — here  is  the  weapon  now.  Fortunately  Don 
Ramon  managed  to  strike  it  out  of  his  hand;  and  in  falling, 
during  the  tussle,  the  man  must  have  hurt  himself.  It  is 
my  duty,  at  all  events,  to  place  him  in  safe  custody,  where 
he  can  do  no  more  harm." 

So  John  Marston,  wounded,  bleeding  and  insensible,  was 
placed  in  safe  custody  where  he  could  do  no  more  harm; 
while  within  the  next  half-hour  Don  Ramon  Aliso,  with 


That  Ranch  of  His.  235 

fresh   horses,    was   speeding   toward   the    nearest    railroad 
depot,  bearing  with  him  his  stolen  treasure. 

Charity  covereth  a  multitude  of  sins;  so  do  big  dia- 
monds; and  plenty  of  both  are  to  be  found  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. At  a  charity  ball  they  can  be  seen  in  perfection — 
both  diamonds  and  charity;  for  all  sorts  of  people  are 
admitted  for  sweet  charity's  sake,  and  to  swell  the  receipts 
for  the  night  in  dollars  and  cents. 

We  go  late  to  such  a  ball,  of  course,  and  study  with 
wonder  and  delight  the  magnificent  dresses  there — the 
papers  will  tell  us  in  the  morning  who  was  inside  of  them. 
At  this  particular  ball  is  a  lady  conspicuous  for.  dress  and 
diamonds.  The  heavy  satin  of  her  dress  flames  in  the  color 
of  the  California  poppy;  and  diamonds  shake  and  glitter  on 
bosom,  hair  and  fingers  every  time  she  moves.  It  is  a 
ponderous  frame  to  display  dry  goods  and  jewelry  on,  and 
to  cover  the  frame  so  thoroughly  must  have  cost  large  sums 
of  money.  But  that's  what  she  has  her  money  for,  people 
say;  she  has  no  one  to  leave  it  to  when  she  dies.  Poor, 
wealthy,  vulgar  Mrs.  Merritt!  Ever  since  her  immense 
wealth — realized  from  the  opportune  sale  of  swamp  lands 
mortgaged  to  her  worthless,  departed  husband — had  fallen 
into  her  enormous  hands,  it  had  been  the  one  cry  of  her 
really  good  heart — "Alone  in  the  world,  with  no  one  to 
leave  my  money  to!  " 

However,  she  was  not  alone  at  the  ball  to-night;  beside 
her  was  a  figure  the  entire  reverse  and  opposite  of  the 
worthy  matron.  A  delicate  lavender  silk  fell  gracefully 


236  That  Ranch  of  His. 

around  the  slender  form,  and  a  single  rose  was  half  hidden 
among  the  heavy  gold-brown  curls.  There  was  an  expression 
of  weariness  on  the  pale,  oval  face  that  was  not  well  suited  to 
the  gay  scene;  and  the  haughtily  curved  lips  responded  only 
in  monosyllables  to  the  volubility  of  the  mammoth  woman. 

A  small  circle  had  formed  about  Mrs.  Merritt,  and  she  is 
discussing  her  domestic  and  financial  affairs  freely  with  the 
five  hundred  friends. 

"  Yes;  I  have  some  one  now  to  leave  my  money  to,  for  I 
have  legally  adopted  her — dear  little  chick — and  I'd  like  to 
see  the  first  one  of  you  young  scamps  make  love  to  her  for  her 
money.  She's  had  her  own  troubles,  poor  child,  and  she  so 
hates  and  despises  men  that  I  run  no  risk  of  having  my  money 
squandered  by  a  graceless,  ne'er-do-well  of  a  husband." 

"You  are  perfectly  right,  Mrs.  Merritt,  to  guard  both 
your  treasures  well;"  it  was  a  handsome,  rakish-looking 
individual  who  spoke.  "But  would  you  not  introduce  a 
fellow  if  he  vowed  and  declared  he  had  no  dark  designs  on 
either?  Come,  now — for  old  acquaintance  sake — let  me 
beg  your  fst&c protege  for  the  next  dance." 

"  She'll  not  dance  to-night,  Harry  Underwood.  My 
little  chick  has  a  pretty  hard  head  of  her  own,  in  spite  of 
her  gentle  eyes;  and  she  has  declared  that  she  will  not 
dance.  Perhaps,  too,  I  have  spoiled  her  just  a  little;  but 
she  is  the  dearest  child,  for  all  that,  and  really  loves  me,  for 
all  my  rough  ways.  You  may  believe  me  that  I  cherish  her 
as  the  apple  of  my  eye." 

The  loving  look  she  cast  over  to  her  companion  seemed 
suddenly  frozen  in  her  eyes. 


That  Ranch  of  His.  237 

"  What  ails  the  child  ?"  she  cried  in  alarm.  "Are  you 
sick?  Away  from  here,  all  of  you;  don't  you  see  she  can 
not  breathe  here  ?  ' ' 

With  her  stout  fists  she  thrust  back  the  throng  of  the 
curious  who  had  gathered  at  the  cry  of  ' '  fainting  woman. ' ' 
The  straining  eyes  of  her  companion  were  fixed  on  the 
farther  end  of  the  room,  and  the  pale  lips  breathed  but  a 
single  word  into  the  woman's  ear. 

' '  Nonsense,  child ! ' '  she  exclaimed  impatiently,  '  *  you 
are  dreaming  again.  Do  put  that  fickle  Spaniard  out  of 
your  mind  at  last.  Come,  we  will  go  to  one  of  the  sitting- 
rooms  and  I  will  order  champagne." 

But  the  pale  lips  approached  her  ear  again. 

"No — no,  aunt,  I  am  not  mistaken.  It  is  Ramon;  see, 
he  is  coming  this  way." 

It  was,  perhaps,  the  uncommon  stature  of  the  woman 
that  drew  the  looks  of  the  Spaniard  toward  her,  as  she 
stood  upright,  with  craned  neck,  to  scrutinize  him.  From 
her  his  glance  glided  to  the  form  beside  her,  and  with  a  few 
quick  strides  he  had  reached  them — just  in  time  to  catch 
the  fainting  woman  in  his  arms. 

"Make  room  there,"  he  cried  sharply;  "this  lady  has 
fainted  from  the  heat — stand  aside,  please." 

The  music  striking  up  at  this  moment,  there  was  no 
difficulty  in  leaving  the  hall  unobserved;  the  Spaniard  laid 
his  burden  on  the  lounge  in  a  small  sitting-room,  and  bent 
anxiously  over  her.  The  woman  in  orange  satin  could 
bridle  tongue  and  temper  no  longer. 

"So  you  are  the  delectable  Ramon,   about  whom  the 


238  That  Ranch  of  His. 

poor  thing  has  been  breaking  her  heart — and  you  hunting 
fresh  pastures  in  the  meantime,  no  doubt.  O,  a  fine  set 
you  are — Spaniards  and  Americans  alike,  don't  I  know  you 
— ugh !  And  that  poor  creature  driven  out  of  her  house  by 
the  avaricious  landlord,  and  not  a  stitch  of  anything  but 
what  she  had  on  her.  What  should  have  become  of  the 
unfortunate  child  if  I  had  not  found  her  that  very  day — you 
— you  heartless  deceiver!  " 

Her  feelings  had  gotten  so  much  the  better  of  her  that 
she  overlooked  entirely  the  possibility  of  "her  chick's" 
needing  any  assistance  to  recover  from  her  swoon,  and  only 
when  Ramon  had  bathed  her  temples,  and  Selma  had 
opened  her  eyes,  was  she  recalled  to  the  needs  of  the 
present.  Ramon  kneeled  beside  the  lounge  and  chafed 
the  cold  little  hands  as  he  asked,  with  trembling 
voice: 

"You  do  not  believe  what  this  woman  says?  Surely, 
you  knew  that  I  had  not  willfully  deserted  you,  my  life,  my 
angel  ?  Those  rascally  Americans  had  me  seized  and 
imprisoned  suddenly  and  without  warning,  when  it  came 
time  to  foreclose  the  mortgage  on  the  Sandia  Rancho,  so 
that  I  could  make  no  effort  to  redeem  it.  The  wounding  of 
John  Marston  furnished  the  pretext  for  my  arrest — though 
John  Marston  has  never  been  heard  of  since.  From  the 
moment  I  regained  my  liberty  I  searched  for  you — O,  my 
love,  I  need  not  tell  you  with  what  eagerness  and  anxiety. 
My  heart  broke  in  the  hopeless  search;  I  neither  slept  "nor 
rested — I  sought  everywhere — and  have  found  you  at  last, 
never  to  part  with  you  again.  For  we  start  to  San  Diego 


That  Ranch  of  His.  239 

to-morrow,  to  my  rancho  there.  I  am  still  a  wealthy  man, 
though  half  my  land  is  lost." 

"Start  to  San  Diego  to-morrow,  indeed!"  mocked  Mrs. 
Merritt,  her  broad  face  flushed,  her  arms  akimbo,  "and  take 
my  child  without  so  much  as  saying,  '  By  your  leave.'  Do 
you  know  that  I  have  adopted  her,  and  left  her  all  my 
money — ' ' 

In  the  ball-room,  meanwhile,  there  was  a  commotion  of  a 
different  kind.  At  the  entrance  door  appeared  a  fresh 
arrival,  viewed  rather  critically  by  the  smiling  ushers.  By 
the  widest  stretch  of  charity,  his  corduroys  and  heavy  boots 
could  not  be  construed  into  full-dress,  though  the  man  was 
a  gentleman,  and  handsome  enough,  in  spite  of  a  fiery  scar 
that  crossed  his  forehead  and  buried  itself  under  the  masses 
of  his  tawny  hair.  He  had  evidently  been  sold  an  admis- 
sion ticket,  so  what  could  they  do  but  admit  him  ? — espe- 
cially as  the  quantity  of  wine  he  had  already  taken  augured 
that  he  would,  take  a  good  deal  more.  A  titter  ran  through 
the  crowd  near  the  door,  as  he  turned  apologetically  to  one 
of  the  gentlemen  in  regulation  dress. 

"So  much  light  here,"  he  said,  "and  so  many  handsome 
ladies — it's  bewildering  to  a  fellow.  Could  you  not  intro- 
duce me  ?  Came  in  from  San  Joaquin  yesterday,  and  sold 
my  wheat  this  morning.  Would  not  some  of  the  ladies 
take  a  glass  of  wine  with  me  ?  No  offense — I  am  a 
stranger,  you  see,  and  don't  know  the  rules  of  the  place." 

The  ushers  had  one  after  the  other  edged  themselves 
away,  and  one  of  ' '  the  many  handsome  ladies  ' '  turned  to 
her  companion. 


240  That  Ranch  of  His. 

"  It's  the  Hoosier  from  San  Joaquin;  my  husband  once 
pointed  him  out  to  me.  He  burrows  in  the  San  Joaquin 
Valley  all  the  year  round,  comes  to  town  only  when  the 
harvest  is  in,  spends  the  money  he  gets  in  a  week's  time, 
and  never  goes  back  till  he  has  had  at  least  one  broken 
head  to  pay  for.  Watch  now,  and  you  will  see  him  pick  a 
quarrel  with  some  one  in  a  very  short  time.  But  I  do  think 
the  managers  ought  to  have  taken  his  pistol  from  him." 

Very  likely  they  had  not  seen  it;  they  were  not  watching 
him  as  closely  as  these  ladies,  who  discovered  the  little 
weapon  only  as,  passing  through  the  crowd,  his  coat  was 
for  an  instant  displaced  by  some  one  jostling  against  him. 

Pushing  on,  he  came  directly  in  front  of  one  of  the  little 
sitting-rooms,  which  are  so  cozy  to  enjoy  a  quiet  supper  and 
harmonious  conversation  in.  In  this  room,  however,  there 
was  loud  talking,  and  the  occupants  seemed  engaged  in 
anything  but  harmonious  conversation.  A  woman's  sharp, 
vixenish  voice  attracted  him. 

"What's  going  on  here?"  he  asked,  recklessly  peering 
in.  '  'Anything  I  can  take  a  hand  in  ?  "  He  was  still  at 
the  gaming  table  with  his  thoughts.  "God's  Death!"  he 
shouted  suddenly,  his  eyes  clear,  and  his  senses  sobered  in 
a  moment.  "  That  accursed  greaser  again  ?  I'll  give  you 
no  odds  against  me  this  time,  you  damned  Spaniard.  I 
know  I'm  going  to  hell,  but  you  shall  go  there  first — "  and 
before  the  man  could  rise  from  his  kneeling  position,  John 
Marston's  hand  had  sent  a  bullet  crashing  through  his 
brain.  The  sight  of  blood  maddened  him  all  the  more. 

"That  woman  there!"  he  screamed,  turning  fiercely  to 


That  Ranch  of  His.  241 

the  prostrate  figure  on  the  lounge;  but  the  arms  of  the 
gigantic  woman  were  clasped  about  him,  he  could  neither 
shake  her  off  nor  use  his  pistol,  and  the  weapon  was 
wrested  from  him  before  the  strong  arms  freed  him  from 
their  unwelcome  embrace. 

Policemen  were  on  the  spot;  again,  as  on  that  night  so 
many  months  ago,  John  Marston  was  taken  into  safe 
custody,  to  prevent  him  from  doing  more  harm,  and  to  be 
held  till  the  Spaniard  should  appear  against  him  at  the  bar. 
It  was  a  vain  precaution.  Don  Ramon  Aliso  had  gone 
before  a  higher  bar,  and  poor  Mrs.  Merritt,  with  her  kind 
heart  and  her  vulgar  ways,  had  to  find  some  one  else  to 
leave  her  money  to;  for  Selma  did  not  survive  the  shock  of 
that  dreadful  night. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  GARDEN. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  GARDEN. 


NEVER  was  garden  more  unintentionally  started,  and 
never  did  one  prove  greater  source  of  pleasure.  One  of  the 
row  of  detached  cottages,  which  my  elder  brother  had  built 
for  the  purpose  of  letting  to  tenants,  was  occupied  during 
one  summer  by  a  younger  brother  with  his  family,  who  pur- 
posed returning  to  the  States  at  the  close  of  the  following 
winter.  The  town  lies  in  the  midst  of  the  Salinas  plains, 
and  as  these  cottages  were  pretty  much  on  the  outskirts,  the 
surroundings  were  flat  and  dreary  enough.  George,  how- 
ever, had  the  foresight  to  plant  trees — little  snips  of  eucalyp- 
tus, about  six  inches  high — one  row  along  the  outer  edge  of 
the  sidewalk,  another  row  inside  the  white  paling  fence. 

To  make  the  glaringly  new  place  a  little  more  homelike 
during  my  sister-in-law's  sojourn  in  California,  I  had  a  dozen 
or  two  of  plants  sent  up  by  a  San  Francisco  florist,  and  set 
out  in  the  little  front  yard  of  the  cottage — fuchsias,  a  few 
double  geraniums,  pelargonias,  pansies — common  enough 
flowers,  which  would  entail  but  small  loss  by  their  death  or 
destruction,  after  having  served  their  purpose. 

It  so  chanced,  one  day  about  Christmas  time,  while  on 
a  visit  there  with  mother,  that  my  little  nephew  brought  me 
two  small  twigs  of  honeysuckle — little  sprigs  about  four 
inches  long,  broken  off  a  neighbor's  vine  at  haphazard — not 
slips  or  shoots.  It  was  a  wet,  rainy  day,  and  I  stuck  them 


246  The  Story  of  a  Garden. 

in  the  ground  by  the  front  porch,  as  children  do  when  they 
play  at  making  gardens.  I  went  back  to  the  city,  mother 
remaining  in  Salinas  till  the  time  should  come  for  my  State- 
brother's  departure  for  his  old  home;  then  I  went  up  for  a 
last  visit,  and  was  surprised  when  mother  pointed  out  two 
nicely  growing  honeysuckle  vines,  and  said  they  were  the 
little  sticks  I  had  planted.  By  this  time,  as  the  winter  was 
a  wet  one,  the  little  eucalyptus  had  more  than  doubled  their 
height;  the  geraniums  looked  as  if  they  did  not  intend  to 
die,  by  any  means,  after  their  brief  period  of  usefulness;  and 
the  fuchsias  were  covered  with  the  merriest,  gayest  bells  of 
royal  purple,  deep  red,  and  starry  white.  Mother  had,  in 
the  meantime,  set  out  a  verbena  slip  here,  a  bunch  of  violets 
there,  in  the  little  front  yard,  and  began  to  cast  longing 
glances  at  the  much  larger  space  in  the  rear  of  the  house, 
which  stood  covered  with  weeds  a  foot  or  two  high.  I,  too, 
found  myself  often  on  the  front  porch,  watching  the  almost 
visible  growth  of  the  scant  collection  of  plants;  and  finally, 
before  the  day  came  on  which  we  were  all  to  leave  the  little 
cottage,  and  my  bachelor  brother  to  his  solitary  fate,  we 
had  concluded  not  to  abandon  either,  but  to  refurnish  the 
cottage  and  install  mother  as  housekeeper  for  brother,  while 
I  was  to  spend  there  such  brief  periods  of  my  existence  as  I 
could  pass  without  breathing  the  air  of  San  Francisco. 

And  now  we  commenced  growing  a  garden.  I  haunted 
the  florists'  shops  and  fancy  nurseries  in  and  about  the  city, 
brought  and  sent  home  all  the  flowers  I  could  see  or  think 
of — had  many  a  batch  of  worn-out,  gnarled  old  plants 
palmed  off  on  me  as  "sturdy  growers,"  and  many  a 


The  Story  of  a   Garden.  247 

' '  goose ' '  flung  at  my  devoted  head  by  my  big  brother,  be- 
because  I  could  not  tell  a  healthy,  thrifty  flower  from  one 
that  had  been  forced  into  temporary  bloom  and  beauty  by 
the  gardener's  art.  To  my  unspeakable  joy  I  was  one  day 
presented  with  a  bundle  of  a  hundred  rose  cuttings,  and  on 
carrying  these  to  Salinas  in  person,  my  brother's  interest  in 
the  garden  was  at  last  fully  aroused.  The  ground  back  of 
the  house  had  ceased  to  be  a  wilderness;  the  soil  had  been 
turned,  beds  laid  off  and  all  sorts  of  seeds  sown.  On  a 
piece  of  ground  next  our  garden  proper,  and  in  the  immedi- 
ate vicinity  of  an  artesian  well,  George  laid  all  the  rose  cut- 
tings in  rows,  close  together,  the  object  being  to  give  them 
as  much  water  as  possible  through  the  summer,  to  make 
roots,  so  that  they  could  be  transplanted  in  the  fall.  A  little, 
rude  paling  fence  was  built  around  the  patch,  and,  as  it  had 
just  about  the  right  dimensions  for  a  grave,  the  neighbors' 
children  got  to  calling  it  our  graveyard.  As  it  was  still 
early  in  the  year,  we  continued  to  plant,  mother  and  I,  all 
the  slips,  seeds,  and  flowers  we  could  buy,  beg,  or  borrow. 
I  dare  say  the  seeding  and  planting  was  not  always  done 
strictly  according  to  rule;  and  my  brother,  who  understands 
something  of  gardening,  no  doubt  often  had  his  patience 
sorely  tried  by  the  lack  of  system  and  knowledge  we  dis- 
played. But  what  matter,  so  long  as  everything  grew  and 
thrived  and  flourished  ?  Every  small  bit  of  geranium  that 
was  broken  by  accident  was  stuck  in  the  ground  and  grew 
to  be  a  bush.  Every  little  twig  of  fuchsia,  every  fragment 
of  petunia,  heliotrope,  pink,  showed  the  same  accommodat- 
ing disposition.  No  soil  but  that  of  California  can  boast  of 


248  The  Story  of  a   Garden. 

such  clinging  love  as  its  children  bear  it.  Fling  away  the 
bit  of  heliotrope  in  your  hand,  drop  the  spray  of  fuchsia  on 
the  ground  at  your  feet,  throw  but  a  cup  of  water  upon  it, 
and  you  will  be  surprised,  some  odd  morning,  to  find  a 
blooming  bush  at  your  door.  The  sand  of  San  Francisco, 
or  the  black  adobe  of  Salinas,  will  make  the  same  generous 
return  for  the  smallest  amount  of  labor. 

When  June  came  I  thought  our  garden  was  splendid. 
There  had  been  a  sollya  planted  by  the  front  porch  on  one 
side  of  the  hall  door,  and  a  climbing-rose  (cloth-of-gold)  on 
the  other;  the  bases  of  the  pillars  at  the  outer  ends  of  the 
porch  were  already  covered  by  the  honeysuckle.  I  had 
found  at  a  nursery  two  aquilegias,  dark  brown  and  dark 
blue,  with  buds  on  them,  and  had  transplanted  them  into  the 
front  yard;  and  never  did  flowers  look  so  lovely  as  these 
simple,  graceful  plants,  old-fashioned,  but  handsomer  far 
than  many  of  the  costlier,  newer  kinds.  The  roses  in  the 
"graveyard"  would  bloom,  no  matter  how  often  we  broke 
off  the  bud's';'  and  the  stock  (gilliflowers)  which  we  had 
sown  early  in  the  year,  blossomed  out  in  the  richest  colors 
and  most  delightful  fragrance,  and  Continued  so  to  bloom  for 
the  next  three  years.  A  little  slip  of  heliotrope  had  been 
set  out  by  the  steps  at  the  front  door,  no  one  thinking  that 
the  hop-o'-my-thumb  would  ever  do  more  than  fill  out  its 
little  corner.  By  fall,  it  had  grown  to  be  two  feet,  was  cov- 
ered with  flowers  all  that  winter,  and  the  next  spring  shaded, 
under  its  then  stately  height,  countless  little  plants  sprung  up 
from  the  seed.  These  were  transplanted  to  different  parts  of 
the  garden,  and  some  of  them  proved  really  choice  varieties, 


The  Story  of  a  Garden.  249 

with  clusters  larger  and  finer  than  the  parent  flower  could 
ever  boast  of.  The  roses  in  the  "graveyard,"  which  had 
been  marked  whenever  they  had  shown  their  color  by  their 
buds,  were  transplanted  after  the  first  rains  in  the  fall,  and 
commenced  blooming  almost  immediately;  and  a  tiny  slip  of 
a  passion-vine,  set  out  about  the  same  time,  a  calla  lily  of 
three  small,  delicate  leaves,  and  a  diminutive  yellow  jasmine, 
entered  on  a  race  for  the  championship  in  speed  and  endur- 
ance. How  their  strength  held  out,  all  through  the  winter, 
is  a  marvel  to  me.  With  what  pride  I  picked  my  daily 
bouquet  in  the  year-old  garden,  I  need  not  say;  and  some 
of  the  railroad  officials  can  testify  to  the  huge  bunches  of 
flowers  I  used  to  bring  with  me  to  San  Francisco. 

If  I  had  thought  the  garden  splendid  in  June,  when  it  was 
only  six  months  old,  how  much  more  so  did  it  seem  to  me 
the  June  following,  when  it  was  just  eighteen  months  old. 
I  had  been  absent  for  some  time,  and  when  I  neared  the 
well-known  cottages,  I  was  surprised  by  a  dark-green  shim- 
mer along  the  whole  road.  The  eucalyptus  trees  had  made 
good  use  of  their  leisure,  and  had  grown  a  full  head  taller 
than  my  big  brother.  As  the  whole  length  of  the  block  be- 
longed to  him,  he  had  had  the  double  row  of  trees  extended 
all  the  way  down  and  around  the  corner,  though  there  was 
no  building  on  the  lower  half  of  the  block,  only  the  white 
picket  fence  enclosing  the  lot.  I  could  hardly  realize  that 
this  was  the  bare,  bald -looking  place  I  had  once  so  detested, 
as  I  stopped  before  our  own  particular  cottage.  Honey- 
suckle vines  were  twining  tenderly  about  the  corner  pillars 
of  the  porch,  and  drawing  their  network  across  to  the  next 


250  The  Story  of  a  Garden. 

support;  they  were  covered  with  bunches  of  white,  creamy 
tubes,  and  the  air  was  heavy  with  their  perfume.  The  climb- 
ing-rose had  reached  the  height  of  the  lattice- work  on  its  up- 
ward journey,  and  its  yellowish  flowers  formed  a  most  effec- 
tive contrast  to  the  sky-blue  of  the  sollya  blossoms,  trained 
up  on  the  other  side  of  the  porch.  The  beds  were  edged 
variously  with  dark-blue  violets  and  pink  daisies,  above 
which  bloomed  salvias,  euphorbias,  lantanas,  tube-roses,  for- 
get-me-nots, carnations,  white  lilies,  Japan  lilies,  iris,  prim- 
roses, ranunculus,  lilies-of-the-valley,  pansies,  anemones, 
dahlias,  and  roses — white,  red,  pink,  yellow,  crimson,  cream 
— in  the  wildest  profusion.  On  the  porch,  on  either  side  of 
the  hall  door,  stood  a  Turk's-head  cactus,  with  large,  trum- 
pet-shaped, rose-clored  blossoms;  and  above,  on  the  door- 
posts, hung  two  cages,  "  Yakob's  "  on  one  side,  "Jimmy's  " 
on  the  other.  At  the  corner  of  the  house  I  could  get  a  look 
into  the  garden  at  the  back,  and  was  fairly  dazzled  by  the 
bright  colors  in  the  sun.  But  the  sun  had  destroyed  quite  a 
number  of  plants,  mother  said,  particularly  her  hydrangeas, 
and  she  was  going  to  have  trees  in  the  garden  to  shade  her 
plants.  As  she  is  quite  an  independent  old  lady,  she  had 
determined  to  trouble  no  one,  but  raise  her  own  trees.  A 
little  box  filled  with  earth,  and  two  bits'  worth  of  eucalyptus- 
tree  seed,  was  all  she  wanted,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  time 
she  had  a  miniature  forest  on  hand,  which  she  distributed  to 
suit  herself. 

Every  well-regulated  garden  has  its  own  toad,  I  believe; 
and  I  discovered  ours,  one  day,  in  the  ' '  wood-house. ' '  This 
is  an  institution  where  garden  implements,  kindling-wood, 


The  Story  of  a  Garden.  251 

disabled  chairs,  broken-nosed  pitchers,  and  the  like 
are  kept;  and,  while  rummaging  here  for  something,  my 
hand  suddenly  touched  some  alarmingly  cold  object.  A 
bound  and  a  scream  was  the  natural  result,  and  when  mother 
came  and  threw  open  the  door,  we  beheld  for  the  first  time 
our  toad — a  tender  little  thing,  not  over  an  inch  or  two  long 
or  broad.  He  looked  gravely  into  my  face,  surprised  and 
displeased  at  the  fuss  I  had  made  about  it,  and  then  de- 
murely hopped  away.  After  this  we  saw  him  frequently, 
generally  seated  behind  the  yellow  jasmine  on  the  * '  half 
round  "  bed,  but  just  as  often  perched  on  the  top  of  an  old 
stone  jug  in  the  wood-house.  But  he  croaked  when  he  felt 
like  it,  and  it  meant  neither  sunshine  or  rain,  so  far  as  I  could 
discover. 

About  this  time  I  visited  San  Jose",  and  there,  at  a  pot- 
tery, saw  a  garden  urn  which  I  knew  would  look  perfectly 
lovely  in  our  garden.  It  stood  about  a  yard  high  from  the 
ground,  could  be  taken  in  two  pieces,  and  was  to  cost  five 
dollars.  I  had  it  sent  home;  but,  somehow,  George  never 
liked  the  thing,  though  he  had  it  painted  a  bronze-green  at 
my  request.  I  lugged  it  .into  the  front  yard,  underneath  a 
eucalyptus  tree,  with  an  immediate  background  of  pink- 
blooming  double  geranium.  In  it  I  planted  a  heliotrope 
(they  grew  like  weeds  all  over  the  garden),  surrounded  by  a 
wreath  of  some  drooping  little  vines,  which  hung  over  the 
rim  of  the  urn.  This  whole  arrangement  I  mounted  on  an 
empty  candle-box,  around  which  I  planted  the  periwinkle 
with  its  far-reaching  arms,  to  hide  the  box  and  make  believe 
it  was  a  pedestal.  Placed  at  the  head  of  the  broa4  walk  or 


252  The  Story  of  a  Garden. 

alley  formed  by  the  two  houses,  and  viewed  from  the  bot- 
tom of  the  garden,  I  thought  the  effect  was  charming.  But 
my  brother  thought  differently;  and  when  I  came  to  Salinas 
again,  the  box  pedestal  had  been  chopped  into  kindling- 
wood,  and  the  urn,  in  two  pieces,  was  idly  rolling  around 
the  yard.  The  heliotrope  had  died,  George  said,  and  the 
periwinkle  would  not  grow.  I  quietly  gathered  up  the  urn, 
dragged  it  to  the  front  porch,  filled  it  with  earth,  and 
planted  a  beautiful  pink  pelargonium  in  it,  surrounded  by  a 
wreath  of  blue  lobelias.  I  watched  it  and  tended  it,  and 
when  I  left,  it  was  under  the  impression  that  this  was  the 
prettiest  piece  of  furniture  in  the  whole  establishment.  On 
my  return  I  could  see  neither  the  urn  nor  the  plants  in  it, 
and  immediately  commenced  a  "  still  hunt"  for  both.  I 
found  the  urn  at  last,  drew  it  out  of  its  hiding-place,  rolled 
it  to  the  front  porch  once  more,  and  commenced  operations. 
I  took  the  largest  of  the  Turk's-head  cactus,  and,  as  I 
could  not  handle  the  thing  on  account  of  the  long  thorns, 
broke  the  pot  to  pieces  and  managed  to  slide  the  plant  into 
the  urn.  Then  I  carefully  gathered  up  the  fragments  of  the 
big  flower-pot,  put  them  where  I  had  found  the  urn,  and 
considered  a  good  day's  work  done.  I  had  beaten  my 
brother — the  cactus  was  too  much  for  him,  and,  as  far  as  I 
know,  the  urn  stands  on  the  front  porch  to  this  day. 

Soon  after,  another  equally  bitter  but  equally  wordless 
war  was  waged  between  us.  The  garden  was  now  so 
grown  up — so  choked  up,  in  fact — that  many  things  which 
had  been  planted  in  the  first  place  to  make  a  quick  growth, 
could  be  well  spared.  Among  these,  first  and  foremost,  a 


The  Story  of  a  Garden.  253 

vine  called  water-ivy  by  some,  German  ivy  by  others.  It 
grows  rapidly,  has  a  pretty,  glossy,  dark -green  leaf,  and  is 
the  favorite  resort  of  a  large,  hairy,  black  caterpillar. 
Partly  on  this  account,  and  partly  because  it  dies  down  in 
winter  and  leaves  a  mass  of  tough,  black,  string-like  lines 
clinging  to  the  trellis,  I  had  always  hated  it,  and  wanted 
George  to  root  it  out,  as  there  were  so  many  prettier  vines 
in  the  garden — English  ivy,  woodbine,  passion  vine,  ivy 
geranium,  smilax,  clyanthus  and  running  roses.  George, 
on  the  other  hand,  hated  my  beautiful  sollya,  because  the 
resinous  matter,  which  exudes  from  it  with  the  sun,  always 
caught  the  dust  and  adhered  as  a  black  mass  to  the  flooring 
of  the  porch.  But  the  plant  was  graceful  and  the  flower 
lovely,  and  I  would  not  pull  it  up.  Neither  would  he  pull 
up  the  water- ivy.  At  last  I  commenced  on  this  myself; 
but  it  was  so  tough,  and  so  spread  out  and  rooted  in,  that  I 
made  but  little  headway,  and  went  to  San  Francisco  before  I 
could  fairly  finish  the  task.  When  I  came  back  my  sollya 
had  disappeared,  root  and  branch,  and  that  horrid  water-ivy 
was  still  in  its  place.  The  porch  was  so  thickly  covered 
with  vines  now  that  the  sollya  was  really  not  missed;  but  I 
had  to  get  even  with  my  flint-headed  brother.  After  much 
labor,  I  succeeded  in  dragging  the  objectionable  ivy  out  of 
the  ground,  threw  the  whole  thing  over  the  fence,  and  took 
my  departure  for  the  city,  well  satisfied  with  my  efforts  at 
ridding  the  garden  of  a  nuisance.  Returning  within  a  week 
or  two,  behold! — the  water-ivy,  replanted  in  its  old  corner. 
Without  a  word  I  dug  it  up,  and  threw  it  over  the  fence  on 
the  other  side  and  felt  quite  triumphant  when  its  former 


254  The  Story  of  a  Garden. 

place  was  vacant  on  my  next  visit.  Months  later,  I  chanced 
into  the  vacant  lot  below,  which  had  been  set  out  with  roses 
and  evergreens,  when  what  should  I  see  but  that  detestable 
water-ivy,  growing  as  if  nothing  had  happened  it,  in  a  far 
corner  of  the  lot.  I  ran  back  to  the  house,  found  a  hatchet, 
pulled  up  the  plant,  hacked  it  into  little  pieces,  and 
threw  it,  by  bits,  into  the  street.  That  was  the  last  of 
the  water-ivy. 

Amid  these  "wars,  and  rumors  of  wars,"  fair  June  had 
come  once  more — two  years  and  six  months,  to  a  day,  since 
I  had  unintentionally  started  a  garden  by  sticking  a  little 
twig  of  honeysuckle  into  the  ground.  Verily,  a  goodly 
showing  was  here,  for  a  garden  that  had  been  neither 
planned,  nor  laid  out,  nor  sub-drained,  sub-soiled,  nor  any- 
thing else  that  Eastern  people  think  indispensable  for  grow- 
ing a  garden.  George  met  me  at  the  depot,  after  several 
month's  absence;  and  long  before  I  could  see  the  row  of 
cottages,  I  saw  the  trees  waving  high  above  them.  Turn- 
ing into  the  street,  we  entered  an  avenue  of  tall,  stately 
trees,  swayed  by  the  noonday  breeze,  and  shading  garden, 
sidewalk,  street  and  cottages.  The  skimp  little  things  that 
had  been  objects  of  my  scorn  two  years  before,  now  com- 
manded my  respect  and  veneration,  for  there  is  nothing  so 
impressive  and  solemn  to  me  as  the  rustling  of  the  wind  in 
the  trees.  From  out  between  the  paling-fence,  and  above 
it,  great  round  clusters  of  double  geranium — pink,  rose, 
scarlet — thrust  themselves  into  the  faces  of  the  passers-by; 
for  all  these  plants,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  white  and 
salmon-flowered  ones,  had  been  banished  to  the  fence,  on 


The  Story  of  a  Garden.  255 

account  of  their  impudently  forward  growth.  Some  of  the 
leaves  were  the  size  of  a  large  palm-leaf  fan,  the  stems  were 
as  large  round  as  my  arm,  and  one  of  the  scarlet  double 
kind  was  actually  making  its  way  from  the  fence  to  the  roof 
of  the  house.  The  cloth-of-gold  climbing-rose  at  the  front 
porch  was  climbing  over  the  roof,  and  the  heliotrope — the 
old  original  one,  in  the  corner  by  the  steps — was  eight  feet 
high,  though  it  had  been  wilted  down  by  the  unusually 
severe  weather  of  the  past  winter.  The  honeysuckle,  which 
we  had  once  so  cherished  and  protected,  had  taken  poss- 
ession of  the  better  part  of  the  porch  and  house,  and  mother 
made  daily  attacks  on  it  with  carving-knife  and  garden- 
shears,  to  keep  it  from  forcing  its  way  inside.  The  jasmine 
was  twelve  feet  high,  the  passion-vine  an  impenetrable  wall, 
and  the  calla  lily  grew  all  over  the  garden;  it  had  been  sep- 
arated into  fifty  different  bushes,  and  they  bloomed  from 
the  first  of  January  to  the  last  of  December.  A  dozen 
gladiola  bulbs  which  had  been  placed  in  the  ground, 
made  the  garden  look  like  a  dry  goods  store  show-win- 
dow; and  when  it  came  time  to  take  up  the  bulbs  we 
filled  baskets  with  them,  and  then  had  to  pull  up  as 
weeds  the  blades  that  sprang  from  the  countless  small 
ones  left  in  the  earth.  Hyacinth,  tulip  and  other  bulbs 
increase  in  the  same  proportion;  and  the  flowers  seem 
to  retain  their  bloom  longer  here  than  they  do  in  the 
Eastern  States. 

One  of  the  homely  German  proverbs  says  that  c '  our 
appetite  grows  with  the  eating. ' '  The  more  garden  we  had 
the  more  we  wanted.  The  only  free  space  left  in  the  yard, 


256  The  Story  of  a  Garden. 

about  twenty  feet  square,  on  which  fronted  the  wood-house 
and  the  back  porch,  was  now  traversed  by  rude  benches, 
rising  one  above  the  other  like  steps,  completely  covered 
with  flowers  growing  in  pots;  and  the  bees  of  all  Monterey 
County  gathered  right  there,  as  if  they  thought  these 
flowers,  being  in  pots,  must  excel  those  in  the  ground. 
The  side-wall  of  the  wood-house  had  been  trellised  all  the 
way  up,  and  here  a  separate  fuchsia-bed  had  been  estab- 
ished.  It  was  sheltered  from  the  hottest  sun  as  well  as 
from  the  cold  that  sometimes  nips  them  in  the  winter-time; 
and  I  will  engage  to  pick  a  bouquet  of  the  most  variously- 
colored  fuchsias  from  that  bed,  any  time  of  the  year,  be  it 
January,  May  or  October. 

Still,  I  don't  boast  of  our  fuchsias;  I  do  not  think  that 
they  thrive  in  Salinas  as  they  do  in  this  horrid  San  Fran- 
cisco; we  have  no  plant  in  the  garden  over  eight  feet  high, 
and  there  is  no  stem  there  more  than  one  inch  and  a  half  in 
diameter.  But  our  lemon-verbena!  That  is  something  to 
boast  of.  It  may  seem  strange  to  Eastern  folks  to  hear  a 
lemon-verbena  spoken  of  as  a  shrub;  this  particular  one, 
however,  is  a  tree.  It  was  a  slender  shoot  of  two  feet  in 
height  when  we  set  it  out;  it  is  fifteen  feet  now,  and  the  stem 
as  large  around  as  a  stout  man's  arm.  It  is  monstrous,  but 
has  lost  none  of  its  fragrance  by  its  vast  proportions.  It 
is  the  home  of  a  dozen  humming-birds,  who  build  their 
nests  in  it,  and  are  tame  enough  to  visit  the  cages  of 
"Yakob"  and  "Jimmy"  on  the  back  porch;  for  there 
are  no  children  with  prying  eyes  and  climbing  feet  to 
disturb  them. 


The  Story  of  a  Garden.  257 

"Yakob"  and  "Jimmy,"  poor  fellows,  had  twice  a  very 
narrow  escape  from  those  feathered  Apaches,  the  king- 
birds. In  both  cases  "  Yakob' s"  vigorous  lungs  had 
brought  timely  help;  "Jimmy,"  a  timid,  oppressed-looking 
little  canary,  had  sat  huddled  up  in  a  little  heap,  as  far  back 
as  possible  in  the  cage,  when  rescued,  with  his  head  tucked 
under  his  wing.  After  this,  the  cages  were  hung  out  on  the 
back  porch,  where  they  could  be  seen  from  the  dining-room 
and  kitchen.  The  birds  were  really  fond  of  flowers,  and 
enjoyed  the  garden  as  much  as  any  other  member  of  the 
family.  "  Yakob,"  a  splendid  singer,  was  spoiled  by 
petting,  and  naturally  grew  headstrong  and  willful.  Among 
other  things,  he  insisted  on  coming  out  of  his  cage  when- 
ever he  felt  inclined  to  roam  through  the  house,  and  would 
not  sing  unless  he  had  his  way.  He  always  wanted 
"Jimmy"  for  company,  and  together  they  wandered  from 
room  to  room — "Yakob"  leading  the  way,  "Jimmy" 
humbly  bringing  up  the  rear.  But  they  were  not  ungrate- 
ful, and  "Yakob"  would  strike  up  a  brisk,  lively  air, 
hopping  about  the  floor  by  mother's  feet,  "Jimmy"  sing- 
ing a  feeble  little  second.  We  used  to  be  very  careful  about 
closing  the  doors  and  windows  when  first  they  were  allowed 
to  leave  their  cages,  more  particularly  the  hall-door.  This 
opens  into,  the  house  from  the  front  porch,  and  as  you  enter, 
you  have  George's  room  on  the  left,  the  parlor  to  the  right, 
through  which  you  pass  into  the  dining-room,  where  the 
cages  hang  by  the  window. 

One  day  I  happened  in  the  dining-room  just  as  the  birds 
were  crossing  the  parlor  floor  and  hopping  up  to  the  hall 


258  The  Story  of  a  Garden. 

door,  which  stood  wide  open.  I  was  afraid  to  startle  them, 
as  they  did  not  know  me  as  well  as  mother,  so  all  I  could 
do  was  to  watch.  Presently  ' '  Yakob  ' '  stood  in  the  door- 
way, craned  his  neck  to  look  up  at  the  sky,  shook  his 
head,  turned  to  "Jimmy"  to  say  that  it  was  not  safe  out 
there,  and  led  the  way  into  George's  room,  where  they  both 
perched,  as  usual,  on  the  bouquet.  After  this,  the  door  was 
never  closed  on  their  account,  and  "Yakob"  even  made 
short  trips  to  the  lemon-verbena,  on  different  occasions, 
leaving  "Jimmy"  behind  on  the  porch.  As  I  said,  they 
were  really  fond  of  flowers — devouring  their  own  weight  in 
mignonette,  many  times  a  day.  George  always  brought 
them  a  handful  when  he  came  in  to  his  meals;  and  if  he 
ever  neglected  it,  there  was  war  in  camp.  ' '  Yakob ' ' 
would  flutter  around,  scold,  and  work  himself  into  a  great 
fury;  and  if  he  happened  to  be  shut  up  in  his  cage,  I  have 
seen  him  clutch  the  door  with  his  little  claw,  shake  it,  and 
screech  in  the  most  vindictive  manner,  and  I  knew  perfectly 
well  that  he  meant;  "  Ho — let  me  at  him!  I  want  to  peck 
out  his  eyes!"  "Yakob"  was  afraid  of  nothing;  but 
"Jimmy,"  as  I  said,  was  easily  frightened,  and  had  a 
strange  horror  of  George's  black  hat.  He  would  flutter 
wildly  about,  if  the  black  hat  approached  his  cage,  and  his 
little  heart  would  beat  with  fear  for  an  hour  after.  One  day, 
as  both  cages  were  hanging  on  the  back  porch  with  the 
doors  open,  George's  hat  came  unexpectedly  around  the 
corner,  and  "Jimmy,"  in  his  first  fright,  shot  out  of  the 
cage  and  made  for  the  trees.  George,  never  thinking  of 
the  mischief  he  should  work,  started  after  him,  tore  off  the 


The  Story  of  a  Garden.  259 

fateful  black  hat  and  tried  to  catch  "Jimmy"  by  throwing 
it  over  him.  The  frantic  bird  flew  over  the  top  of  the 
house,  got  in  among  the  trees  on  the  street,  and  was  never 
heard  of  again.  "  Yakob  "  still  lives — a  saddened  life;  he 
has  neither  sung  nor  left  his  cage  since  "Jimmy's"  flight. 

The  toad,  however,  is  still  on  hand.  Mother  had  called 
my  attention  to  the  fact  that  his  croaking  could  plainly  and 
frequently  be  heard,  but  that  he  was  no  more  to  be  seen. 
Looking  around  for  a  larger  flower-pot,  on  one  occasion,  to 
transplant  a  slip  that  had  grown  into  a  bush,  she  stooped  to 
pick  up  one  that  stood,  inverted,  among  the  flower-steps  I 
spoke  of  before.  With  a  horrified  scream  she  dropped  the 
crock,  for  under  it  appeared  what  she  thought  at  first  was  a 
curled-up  snake,  but  which  proved,  in  reality,  to  be  our 
little  toad,  grown  in  circumference  to  the  size  of  a  large 
saucer,  and  fat  as  a  pig.  He  stared  at  mother  quite  as  fix- 
edly as  he  had  once  regarded  me,  but  uttered  a  gratified 
croak  as  he  hopped  away.  Can  any  one  tell  me  whether  he 
had  lain  under  that  crock  for  weeks  and  months  growing 
fat?  Surely,  there  was  no  possibility  of  his  raising  the 
heavy  flower-pot  from  the  ground  every  time  he  wanted  to 
take  temporary  shelter  under  it. 

Elsewhere  I  have  spoken  of  the  enormous  size  the  stems 
of  some  flowers  here  attain.  When  we  have  lived  a  number 
of  years  in  this  state,  we  forget  that  there  is  anything 
remarkable  about  these  things.  It  is  only  when  we  note  the 
astonishment  of  strangers  and  tourists,  who  see  them  for  the 
first  time,  that  we  are  reminded  of  its  being  something 
extraordinary.  A  cousin  of  mine,  who  generally  spends  his 


260  The  Story  of  a   Garden. 

furloughs  in  European  travel,  and  who  prides  himself  some- 
what on  the  collection  of  rare  and  beautiful  plants  in  the 
conservatories  on  the  ancestral  estate  in  the  Fatherland, 
devoted  his  last  furlough  to  a  trip  to  this  country.  Driving 
with  him  through  the  Golden  Gate  Park,  I  expected,  of 
course,  to  hear  him  say  how  much  better  and  finer  they  had 
"all  that  sort  of  thing  in  Europe."  But  he  was  honest 
enough  to  express  his  surprise  and  admiration;  and  when  I 
remarked  casually  that  the  lupine  had  been  found  very 
serviceable  in  keeping  the  sand  from  drifting,  he  looked  in 
bewilderment  at  the  huge,  grayish-green  bushes  I  pointed 
to. 

"Lupines?"  he  said,  "Do  you  call  those  lupines?" 
And  he  sprang  from  the  carnage  to  convince  himself,  cut  off 
one  of  the  branches,  stripped  it  of  its  leaves,  and  said  he 
would  send  that  to  Alt-Jessnitz  to  astonish  his  brother. 

"  Then  why  not  cut  down  one  of  the  bushes  and  send  the 
main  stem  ?  "  I  suggested. 

But  he  only  laughed  and  shook  his  head,  saying  that 
would  never  do — this  was  bad  enough.  It  reminded  me  of 
Pat,  who  asked  his  employer  to  write  a  letter  for  him  home 
to  his  people  in  Ireland.  "Tell  them,"  says  he,  "  that  we 
get  meat  three  times  a  week  in  this  country." 

"  But  Pat,"  the  man  corrected  him,  "  don't  we  give  you 
meat  every  day?  " 

"  True  for  you,"  was  the  reply;  "but  divil  a  bit  would 
they  believe  it  at  all,  at  all;  sure,  three  times  a  week  is  as 
much  as  I  dare  tell  them." 

The  one  regret  of  my  life  clings  about  this  same  cousin. 


The  Story  of  a  Garden.  261 

It  so  happened  that  I  did  not  succeed  in  showing  him  a 
single  heliotrope  more  than  five  or  six  feet  in  height.  The 
previous  winter  had  been  severe;  most  of  them  had  been 
nipped  by  the  cold,  and  had  not  yet  attained  their  former 
dimensions.  We  did  not  get  time  to  cross  the  bay  to 
Oakland;  and  all  I  could  do  was  to  give  him  my  word  that 
I  knew  of  different  places  there  where  the  heliotrope  had 
clambered  up  to  the  second  story  of  the  house.  As  a  well- 
bred  man  he  could  not  doubt  my  word,  but — it  was  awful 
hard  to  believe. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  we  have  an  orangerie  at  Alt-Jess- 
nitz,  too — under  glass,  of  course,  in  winter- time;  and  the 

orange- trees  there  grow  so  high.  But  heliotropes " 

and  a  surreptitious  shake  of  the  head  told  me  that  he  was 
not  convinced. 

Let  me  say  it  again;  "  Our  appetite  grows  with  the  eat- 
ing." Though  a  thousand  blossoms  flashed  their  brilliant 
hues  through  the  sun-lit  garden,  and  filled  the  air  with 
perfume,  I  could  not  help  but  think  of  other  flowers  which 
we  could  not  grow  in  the  grounds.  Begonias,  for  instance, 
in  spite  of  all  that  florists  may  say  to  the  contrary,  will  not 
live  in  the  garden  through  the  winter.  Then  there  are 
camelias,  rhododendrons,  gloxinias,  amaryllis;  and  none  of 
these  were  to  be  found  in  our  garden. 

We  are  all  remote  descendants  of  the  monkey,  I  think; 
at  least  our  instinct  to  imitate  is  easiest  accounted  for  in  this 
manner.  Passing  along  the  street  one  day,  I  saw  a  newly- 
erected  green-house,  built  entirely  of  glass,  covered  with  a 
coat  of  white  paint;  and  the  moment  my  eyes  fell  on  it,  I 


262  The  Story  of  a   Garden. 

knew  just  what  we  wanted.     I  rushed  home  out  of  breath, 
and  proposed  that  George  build  a  green-house. 

"I've  no  more  time  or  money  to  lay  out  on  that  garden," 
he  grumbled. 

But  I  was  not  discouraged.  I  knew  him  to  be  passion- 
ately fond  of  begonias,  and  I  called  to  his  mind  how  many 
specimens  of  the  begonia  had  passed  in  through  the  garden- 
gate,  and  out  over  the  fence — dead.  I  represented  to  him 
that  he  would  keep  on  buying  begonias,  and  throwing  away 
their  corpses,  till  the  expense  would  reach  that  of  a  good- 
sized  green-house,  and  he  would  curse  his  folly  and  short- 
sightedness at  last  for  not  having  built  one  in  time.  Feeling 
that  my  speech  had  made  a  deep  impression,  I  knew  that  I 
could  safely  leave  the  rest  to  mother,  and  returned  to  San 
Francisco. 

A  month  later  he  wrote:  "Come  and  see  the  green- 
house; it  is  twelve  by  sixteen  feet,  and  cost  fifty  dollars  to 
build."  I  went  as  soon  as  I  could.  A  perfect  beauty  was 
that  little  green-house.  It  stood  against  the  fence  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden;  the  board  fence  itself  had  been  raised 
to  form  the  thirteen-feet  high  wall,  and  from  there  the  roof 
sloped  toward  the  garden.  Everything  about  it,  except 
this  fence-wall,  was  window-glass,  covered  with  a  thin 
coat  of  white  paint.  Thus  it  gleamed  out  magically  from 
among  flowering  shrubs  of  oleander,  magnolia,  lilac,  bridal- 
wreath  and  roses.  Graceful,  slender  trees,  the  trees  that 
mother  had  raised  in  the  little  box,  flung  light,  fitful  shadows 
over  it;  and,  altogether,  the  effect  of  the  little  structure  was 
more  than  charming — it  was  enchanting,  fairylike.  Inside, 


The  Story  of  a  Garden.  263 

on  either  hand,  and  along  the  back  wall,  were  shelves;  and 
George  had  already  filled  a  great  portion  of  them  with 
begonias — but  begonias  in  such  endless  variety  that  the  one 
name  does  not  seem  sufficient  for  all  the  different  kinds. 
Being  no  florist,  I  can  not  call  the  multitudinous  members 
of  the  family  by  name;  but  aside  from  the  two  principal 
divisions  (discernible  to  the  unprofessional  eye),  the  flower- 
ing begonias  and  the  foliage  begonias,  there  must  be  some 
fifty  subdivisions.  The  different  flowers  were  from  the 
deepest  scarlet  to  the  brightest  coral — pure  white,  salmon, 
pearl-pink,  faint  red,  bright  red,  pink,  another  red,  another 
salmon — no  two  shades  alike,  but  always  playing  in  the 
same  colors.  Then  there  was  J:he  Rex  begonia,  with  its 
grand,  silver- tinted  leaves;  another  with  funny  little  leaves, 
all  hairy,  and  mottled  like  a  toper's  nose;  round,  glossy 
leaves,  and  leaves  with  a  bright  rim  running  around  them — 
all  begonias,  but  no  two  just  alike. 

The  floor  of  this  grand  conservatory  was  exactly  what  it 
had  been  while  it  was  still  common  garden;  even  the  white 
rose  that  climbed  up  the  fence  was  still  there,  though  capped 
of  its  longest  branches.  Geraniums,  pinks  and  heliotropes 
that  happened  to  stand  in  that  part  of  the  garden  had 
insisted  on  growing  till  their  heads  struck  against  the  lowest 
shelf,  and  they  seemed  stupidly  staring  at  the  changes 
around  them.  Of  course  the  place  is  not  heated,  either 
winter  or  summer;  there  is  no  trace  of  fire,  steam  or  any 
other  artificial  heat  within  a  hundred  yards  of  it;  but  the 
house  contains  all  the  exotics  that  grace  the  conservatories  of 
the  Eastern  States — camelias,  bouvardias,  azaleas,  gloxinias 


264  The  Story  of  a   Garden. 

and  a  hundred  more.  Pretty  as  the  glass-house  looks 
in  the  light  of  the  sun,  I  think  it  is  prettier  still  at  night, 
seen  from  the  outside,  when  brilliantly  lighted  up  within — 
and  a  two-tallow-candle-power  is  sufficient  for  this  purpose. 
To  see  it  then,  when  every  leaf  and  blossom  seems  delicately 
traced  on  the  illuminated  glass — when  the  trees  above  cast  a 
momentary  mantle  over  its  brightness,  to  let  it  beam  out 
softly  again  the  next  instant,  while  the  wind  whispers  mys- 
teriously among  the  slender  leaves,  and  the  night  is  made 
fragrant  by  the  breath  of  a  thousand  flowers — no  one  would 
ever  think  that  the  garden  was  purely  a  chance  one,  and  the 
conservatory  merely  an  afterthought. 

For  the  third  and  last  time  let  me  say  that  "  our  appetite 
grows  with  the  eating."  Many  a  time  when  I  stand,  gar- 
den hose  in  hand,  draggled  and  wet  to  the  waist,  like  a 
mermaid,  I  measure  with  my  eye  the  distance  to  the  farther 
fence  that  surrounds  the  next  cottage.  Our  garden  is  not  a 
large  one,  and  the  flowers  are  actually  crowded.  Now,  I 
think — and  mother  thinks  so  too — that  George  ought  to 
have  that  cottage  moved  to  some  other  lot,  so  that  the  fence 
between  our  grounds  and  the  neighbor' s  yard  could  be  torn 
down,  and  the  whole  space  turned  into  one  large  garden. 
And  what  mother  and  I  think  will  come  to  pass. 


ST.  MARVS. 


ST.  MARY'S. 

LONG  ago,  during  the  first  year  of  my  residence  in  Cali- 
fornia, I  had  the  good  fortune  to  find  a  home  in  the  family 
of  dear  Mrs.  Bissel — and  long  may  she  live  in  the  land!  It 
never  occurred  to  me  that  I  was  boarding  there;  we  seemed 
like  one  happy  family,  though  there  were  sometimes  as  many 
as  twenty-four  children  in  the  house  at  once.  It  was  not  in 
the  heart  of  the  city,  and  there  were  large  grounds,  with 
shrubs,  and  an  occasional  oak  tree,  surrounding  the  house, 
which  gave  one  a  charming  illusion  of  being  in  the  country, 
and  which  mothers  with  run-about  children  fully  appreciated. 

When  I  look  back  upon  the  happy  time  now,  and  recall 
the  different  personages  who  made  up  the  household,  I  find 
that  the  individual  who  commanded  and  received  the  great- 
est amount  of  consideration  was  Bridget,  our  cook.  We  all 
bowed  to  her  tyranny  and  consulted  her  pleasure,  particu- 
larly when  it  was  a  "  bad  day  "  with  her — which  it  was  very 
often.  On  such  days  Mrs.  Bissel  herself  entered  the  kitchen 
with  fear  and  trembling;  and  as  for  one  of  us  invading 
Bridget's  dominion  during  a  "spell  of  weather"  we  would 
just  as  soon  have  thought  of  thrusting  our  heads  into  the 
furnace  at  once.  There  was  no  possibility  of  denying 
that  she  was  an  excellent  cook ;  but,  considered  purely  as  a 
woman,  she  was  a  terror.  At  the  children's  dinner,  which 
took  place  at  four  o'clock,  one  or  two  of  the  ladies  were 
generally  present;  and  if  it  so  happened  that  none  of  the 


268  St.   Mary's. 

legitimate  mothers  could  conveniently  attend,  one  or  the 
other  of  the  ladies  would  take  the  place.  Now,  a  dozen  or 
two  of  average  San  Francisco  children  would  not  consume 
their  common  dinner  in  unbroken  silence;  and  whenever  I 
happened  to  be  the  de  facto  mother,  the  urchins  always 
seemed  unusually  animated.  To  see  Bridget  then,  if  it  was 
a  "bad  day"  with  her — as  it  generally  was — make  her  sud- 
den appearance  at  the  dining-room  door,  when  the  hubbub 
was  greatest,  the  iron  spoon  with  which  she  had  just  basted 
the  meat  swung  high  in  air,  her  black  eye-brows  contracted 
to  a  thunder-cloud,  and  her  eyes  flashing  fire,  was  not  con- 
ducive to  a  child's  quiet  sleep  at  night. 

' '  Will  ye  be  shtill — ye  murtherin'  young  dhivils  ye  ? 
Howly  Moses!  but  I'll  put  yez  in  the  oven  and  roast  ye 
alive!"  And  ere  the  shrill  tones  of  her  voice  had  died 
away,  the  little  ones,  even  the  most  courageous  boy  in  the 
crowd,  would  seem  turned  into  stone  with  fear.  Then,  with- 
out a  feature  of  her  face  changing,  she  would  pile  up  another 
dish  with  flaky  white  biscuit,  warm  ginger-snaps,  or  any- 
thing else  that  was  tempting  to  a  child's  appetite,  and  send 
it  into  the  dining-room  by  the  waiting-girl.  As  to  the  wait- 
ing-girl, it  was  always  strictly  enjoined  upon  her  never  to 
touch  anything  upon  the  stove,  in  the  stove,  anywhere  about 
the  stove — anything  in  the  kitchen,  in  fact, — except  what 
Bridget  set  down  on  the  large  table  expressly  for  her.  This 
she  carried  into  the  dining-room;  and  woe  betide  her  if  ever 
she  discovered  speck  or  spot  on  the  edge  of  dish  or  platter, 
which  Bridget  had  overlooked.  Truth  to  tell  it  happened 
very  seldom,  for  Bridget  was  neatness  itself  except  in  her 


•S*.   Mary's.  269 

dress — she  said  she  had  no  time  to  waste  on  that.  Mrs. 
Bissel,  to  give  her  time,  made  the  attempt  once  or  twice  to 
furnish  her  with  an  assistant.  But  they  all  went  the  same 
way,  generally  on  the  third  day,  flying  through  the  kitchen 
door,  with  a  soup-ladle,  or  stove-lid,  a  toasting-fork,  or  any- 
thing else  that  came  handy  to  Bridget,  flying  after  them. 

Once,  when  she  had  a  particularly  "bad  day,"  poor  Mr. 
Bissel,  just  returned  from  a  journey — during  which,  perhaps, 
the  recollection  of  these  bad  days  had  grown  fainter — inno- 
cently brought  out  the  blacking-brushes  in  the  kitchen,  and 
started  in  to  polish  his  boots.  He  didn't  reach  the  polishing 
point,  however;  for,  while  he  turned  for  a  drop  of  water  to 
moisten  the  paste  with,  brushes,  boots,  and  all  took  a  sud- 
den spin  out  through  the  open  door  and  across  the  porch 
into  the  yard.  His  wife  had  always  tried  to  inculcate  lessons 
of  patience  and  forbearance;  and  there  was  merely  a  blank, 
noncomprehensive  expression  on  his  face  for  a  moment;  but 
then,  turning  with  a  sudden  "Well,  I  never — "  he  would 
certainly  have  added  something  stronger,  had  it  not  been 
that  a  glance  at  the  well-filled  range  reminded  him  it  was 
nearly  dinner-time,  and  that  Bridget  was  ruling  goddess  of 
the  roast.  Another  instance  of  how  men  are  slaves  to  their 
appetites. 

As  there  was  a  stable  and  carriage- house  on  the  grounds, 
one  of  the  families  boarding  with  us  kept  their  coachman 
there,  John  Hand;  and  to  him  we  soon  assigned  the  rdle  of 
liberator.  Bridget  was  not  bad  looking,  and  could  be  ami- 
able. John  Hand  seemed  a  hopeful  subject,  and  we  took 
turns  at  dinning  Bridget's  perfections  into  his  willing  ears. 


270  St.   Mary's. 

Particularly  on  ' '  bad  days  ' '  did  we  follow  this  pursuit  with 
avidity,  extolling  her  art  and  economy  in  cooking,  the 
spotless  purity  of  her  kitchen  domain,  her  beauty,  her  thrifty 
ways,  and  the  swift  retribution  she  had  visited,  in  the  shape 
of  a  milk-and-water  douche-bath,  on  the  head  of  the  milk- 
man when  he  once  tried  to  supply  our  numerous  family  with 
diluted  cream,  and  short  measure  at  that.  Such  a  wife  must 
make  the  fortune  and  happiness  of  any  man,  we  argued  to 
John  Hand. 

Mrs.  Bissel  shook  her  head  at  our  plottings  and  en- 
deavors. One  day,  when  Bridget  was  having  an  out- 
rageously "bad  day,"  and  we  were  working  up  John's  affec- 
tion for  her  in  a  corresponding  degree,  she  said,  "You  will 
never  succeed.  Poor  Bridget  has  her  own  troubles,  and  it 
is  not  all  temper  with  her."  She  hinted  at  something  that 
Bridget  had  once  confided  to  her,  in  regard  to  "a  foine 
young  man  back  ill  Ireland,"  who  was  poor  like  herself, 
which  was  the  reason  that  "the  two  of  them  couldn't  get 
married."  After  Bridget's  departure  from  the  old  soil,  her 
mother  had  written  something  about  the  transfer  of  the 
"foine"  young  man's  affections  to  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy 
farmer,  and  Bridget,  receiving  no  assurance  from  him  to  the 
contrary,  was  trying  to  school  herself  to  the  belief  that 
Tommy  was  faithless.  It  was  hard,  of  course,  that  we 
should  have  to  suffer  for  the  perfidy  of  this 'man;  but  we 
tried  hard  enough  to  make  another  man  pay  the  penalty,  to 
little  avail,  as  the  sequel  will  show.  In  fact  knowing  Mrs. 
Bissel  as  well  as  I  did,  I  had  often  had  a  glimmer  of  an  idea 
that  it  was  not  altogether  on  account  of  Bridget's  proficiency 


St.   Mary's.  271 

in  the  art  of  cooking  that  her  mistress  had  so  much  patience 
with  her;  and  to  myself  I  said,  "  Well,  Bridget  is  certainly 
more  lenient  with  Mrs.  Bissel  than  with  the  rest  of  us — a  sign 
that  she  appreciates,  at  least."  But  the  same  evening,  at 
dinner,  I  touched  Mrs.  Bissel  lightly  on  the  arm  and  whis- 
pered to  her  that  the  tomato  salad  had  just  a  faint  flavor  of 
coal-oil,  and  had  better  be  removed  from  the  table. 

"  For  goodness  sake,"  she  whispered  back,  "don't  say  a 
word,  or  Bridget  will  never  let  me  come  into  the  kitchen 
again.  I  trimmed  my  lamp  at  the  kitchen  table,  and  she 
told  me  then  to  clear  out,  but  I  would  not  do  it" 

The  tomato  salad  was  not  pressed  on  the  diners,  and  Mrs. 
Bissel  luckily  escaped  a  reprimand  from  her  cook. 

One  morning  a  most  distressing  circumstance  occurred — 
distressing  as  unlocked  for,  as  we  all  had  a  clear  conscience 
and  knew  that  for  the  last  month  none  of  us  had  ventured 
into  the  kitchen  to  ask  Bridget's  permission  to  heat  a  flat- 
iron  on  the  range,  or  draw  a  cup  of  hot  water  from  the 
boiler  (we  generally  got  more  of  that  than  we  prayed  for, 
anyhow) — a  number  of  distressing  circumstances  I  should 
have  said ;  for  not  only  were  the  biscuit  streaked  with  yellow 
and  burnt  to  a  crisp,  but  the  steak  was  tough  and  cold,  the 
coffee  resembled  dish-water,  and  no  muffins,  buckwheat  or 
corn-cakes  were  visible  to  the  eye  or  discernible  to  the  sense 
of  smell.  Had  Mrs.  Bissel  not  been  a  strong,  vigorous 
woman,  she  must  have  sunk  beneath  the  cross-fire  of  injured 
looks  and  impatient  questions  directed  to  her — or  against 
her,  rather.  Had  she  dared  to  disobey  Bridget,  or  talked 
back  to  her  ?  Had  she  spoken  a  single  rash,  cross  word  to 


272  .SV.   Mary's. 

her,  and  brought  disaster  on  the  whole  household  ?  She 
held  up  her  hands  to  stay  our  imprecations.  She  vowed 
she  had  behaved  in  the  most  exemplary  manner;  but  Bridget 
had  had  a  letter  from  home  last  night,  a  very  disturbing — 
or  rather,  important  letter — and  it  had  unsettled  her  nerves. 
There  was  no  more  said  on  the  subject,  as  we  saw  the  uneasy 
glance  Mrs.  Bissel  directed  toward  the  kitchen-door.  The 
gentlemen  were  quickly  through  with  their  breakfast  and 
hurried  down  town,  while  the  ladies  were  feeding  on  the 
anticipation  of  ' '  hearing  all  about  it. ' ' 

With  one  accord  we  all  assembled  in  a  small  room,  well 
out  of  Bridget's  way,  after  breakfast,  and  there  we  heard  all 
about  it,  sure  enough.  The  mother  had  written  that  a 
brother  of  her  deceased  husband  had  died  and  left  them  all 
his  money — "  sh tacks  and  poiles  of  it,"  Bridget  said — as 
much  as  two  or  three  thousand  dollars.  At  the  same  time 
Tommy  had  written,  after  a  long,  long  silence,  to  say  that 
his  heart  was  breaking  to  see  his  beloved  Bridget  once  more, 
and  that  she  might  expect  him  now,  at  an  early  day.  That 
the  girl  would  marry  him  as  soon  as  he  set  foot  on  land  and 
chose  to  have  her,  he  seemed  to  have  no  doubt — no  more 
than  Bridget  had  herself.  John  Hand  was  desperate,  and 
went  so  far  as  to  hint  that  if  the  accommodating  uncle  had 
not  died  at  so  opportune  a  time,  Tommy  would  never  have 
allowed  his  heart  to  break  for  Bridget.  But  he  got  a  fine 
dressing-down  for  his  pains,  and  Bridget  would  never  speak 
a  word  to  him  after. 

Tommy  came;  Bridget  invested  all  her  savings  in  a  black 
silk  dress,  a  black  velvet  hat  (with  a  feather,  of  course),  and 


St.   Mary's.  273 

a  gay  cashmere  shawl.  That  she  was  supremely  happy  I 
need  not  more  particularly  state;  suffice  it  to  say  that  we 
got  burnt  saleratus  biscuit  more  than  once,  instead  of  light 
muffins,  and  that  she  went  so  far  as  to  set  a  flatiron  on  the 
stove  for  me  with  her  own  hands  one  day.  They  were  to  be 
married  in  church,  as  a  matter  of  course;  and  the  Sunday 
just  before,  when  the  last  bans  were  to  be  published,  I  went 
to  St.  Mary's,  and  took  my  seat  in  a  quiet  nook,  where  I 
had  the  whole  church  before  me. 

It  was  a  day  perfect  and  lovely,  as  days  are  only  in  Cali- 
fornia. There  was  an  added  gleam  of  brightness  in  the  sun 
because  it  was  Sunday  morning,  just  as  I  fancy  that  there  is 
a  peculiarly  sad  tone  in  Sunday  afternoon's  sun.  The  soft, 
golden  air  floated  in  through  the  upper  portion  of  the  tall, 
gothic  windows,  and  the  sombre  dome  of  the  church  seemed 
gradually  to  become  filled  with  the  warm  light  of  the  sweet 
May  morning.  In  low,  thrilling  cadences  the  notes  of  the 
organ  fluttered  and  wavered  through  the  lofty  building,  the 
priest  sprinkled  the  cleansing  water  right  and  left,  and  "As- 
perges  me,  Domine"  came  in  beseeching  tones  from  the 
balconied  organ-loft. 

When  I  raised  my  head  again,  I  saw  John  Hand's  square 
shoulders  somewhere  in  front  of  me,  and  I  wished  honestly 
that  it  might  be  his  name  that  was  to  be  coupled  with 
Bridget's,  and  not  black-eyed,  slender  Tom's,  for  I  could 
not  divest  myself  of  the  thought  that  only  Bridget's  little 
fortune  had  drawn  him  to  her  side  again.  Soon  the  ' '  preach- 
ing priest"  of  the  day  mounted  the  chancel,  and  among 
those  whose  names  were  published  as  about  to  enter  the  state 


274          *  St.  Mary's. 

of  holy  matrimony  were  Bridget  O' Neil's  and  Thomas 
Finly's.  Next,  our  prayers  were  requested  for  the  repose  of 
the  souls  of  those  who  had  died  during  the  week,  and  whose 
death  was  brought  to  the  notice  of  the  Reverend  Father; 
and  then,  after  the  preliminary  cough  and  throat-clearing  of 
his  congregation,  he  began  his  short  sermon.  I  have  for- 
gotten the  words  of  the  text,  or  where  it  could  be  found  in 
the  Bible,  but  it  was  a  lesson  on  renunciation;  and  involun- 
tarily, as  the  sermon  proceeded,  I  let  my  eyes  rove  in  search 
of  John  Hand.  He  sat  with  his  shoulders  bent  and  his  head 
bowed,  a  homely  picture  of  sadness;  he  really  loved  the  vix- 
enish thing  who  was  so  ready  to  marry  her  fickle .  lover  of 
long  ago,  and  the  thought  came  to  me  then  that  we  had  been 
guilty  of  cruel  wrong  to  the  honest- hearted  fellow. 

The  sermon  progressed;  John's  head  drooped  lower  and 
lower,  and  when  the  sermon  was  over  and  the  officiating 
priest  had  again  approached  the  altar,  I  noticed  that  the  poor 
fellow  was  kneeling,  his  face  covered  with  his  hands,  and 
great,  silent  sobs  shaking  his  broad  shoulders.  Poor  John! 
Not  for  you  alone  was  that  sermon  preached;  the  pale  young 
priest  at  the  altar,  whose  gentle  voice  echoes  with  subdued 
yet  sonorous  ring  through  the  church,  has  struggled,  battled, 
and  renounced;  the  white-haired  woman  kneeling  humbly  at 
the  shrine  of  Mary  has  felt  the  sorrow  and  the  triumphs  of 
the  Christian  soul;  and  the  tall,  fair  girl  in  the  balcony  above, 
whose  pure  notes  are  so  clearly  distinct  above  all  other 
voices,  carries  ' '  Renunciation ' '  traced  on  the  white  forehead 
and  written  in  the  depths  of  her  dark,  sad  eyes.  And  as  the 
organ  peals  through  the  arched  space,  and  the  full  choir 


St.   Mary's.  275 

answers  the  chant  of  the  priest,  the  lower  wing  of  the  window 
beneath  which  John  Hand  kneels  is  blown  gently  open  by 
the  summer  wind,  a  narrow  strip  of  sunshine  falls  across  his 
auburn  hair,  and  the  glint  of  something  white  and  silver, 
flashing  in  the  light,  is  for  an  instant  seen  above  his  head. 
It  is  a  dove  that  has  found  its  way  in  through  the  open  win- 
dow, and  flies  swiftly  to  the  altar,  where  it  rests  among  the 
heavy  shadows  beneath  the  vaulted  ceiling,  folding  its  wings 
peacefully,  as  though  it  had  come  to  stay. 

Bridget's  marriage  did  not  turn  out  well;  it  soon  became 
known  that  Tom,  though  not  dissipated,  was  often  away 
from  home,  and  that  Bridget  was  fretting  her  life  out. 
Whether  it  was  really  this,  or  whether  her  more  than  human 
"  infirmity  of  temper"  had  been  but  the  symptoms  of  dis- 
ease lurking  in  her  system,  I  can  not  say;  but  Mrs.  Bissel 
told  us  one  day,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  that  she  had  been  to 
see  Bridget,  and  that  the  poor  thing  could  not  long  survive. 
She  regained  all  her  old  vigor  of  disposition,  however,  before 
her  death,  and  Tommy  found  that  every  cent  Bridget  could 
claim  had  been  transferred  to  her  mother  before  her  death. 

It  was  a  rainy,  blustering  day,  when  Father  Gallagher,  at 
St.  Mary's,  requested  our  prayers  for  the  repose  of  the  soul 
of  Bridget  Finly.  Tom  was  in  church,  occupying  almost 
the  same  seat  that  John  Hand  had  once  filled;  and  I  fancied 
that  the  wretch  had  come  there  merely  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  hearing  his  wife's  name  read  out  among  those  of  the  dead. 
But  somehow,  when  the  organ  thundered  through  the  spac- 
ious church,  poorly  filled  with  people  to-day,  he  seemed  to 
shrink  within  himself;  and  pretty  soon  I  saw  him  on  his 


276  St.   Mary's. 

knees,  his  head  bowed,  his  face  covered.  Just  then  an  angry 
gust  blew  full  against  the  tall  window,  and  as  the  lightly 
fastened  shutter  blew  open,  heavy  drops  of  cold,  bleak  rain 
fell  on  the  bowed  head,  and  the  wind  tugged  viciously  at  the 
black  curls  which  had  once  been  poor  Bridget's  pride  and 
delight. 


MODERN  MONTEREY. 


MODERN  MONTEREY. 

RUSKIN  recently  spoke  of  the  resemblance  existing  be- 
tween a  duck  and  a  snake,  implying,  perhaps,  relationship 
at  some  long-passed  day.  Ducks  and  snakes  are  both 
stupid  animals,  and  have  no  souls.  A  bird,  however,  has  a 
soul,  and  1  could  easily  believe  it  to  be  related  to  the  human 
family,  if  it  were  only  for  having  in  common  the  one  trait — 
the  irresistible  desire  to  flit  when  the  spring-time  comes. 
No  matter  how  soberly  and  sincerely  I  say  to  myself  all 
through  the  winter,  ' '  I  shall  not  want  to  go  anywhere  next 
summer;  that  will  be  a  saving,  and  I  can  get  me  an  elegant 
summer  suit."  But  when  the  spring-time  comes,  I  find  that 
that  part  of  my  soul  which  is  related  to  the  bird  grows  very 
restless,  and  before  the  summer  is  far  in  the  land  I  have 
forgotten  all  about  the  elegant  suit,  and  am  flitting  some- 
where. 

This  year  it  was  to  Monterey.  It  was  not  the  first  time 
my  steps  had  turned  that  way.  I  had  been  there  many 
times  before,  and  I  have  learned  to  love  the  old  place,  which 
holds  so  much  of  interest  to  the  American  people.  Histor- 
ical associations  alone,  however,  have  never  yet  made  any 
place  pleasant  or  desirable  to  live  in;  but  in  Monterey 
nature  has  done  much,  though  art  and  improvement,  until 
quite  recently,  very  little,  to  make  the  town  and  the  sur- 
rounding country  attractive. 

In  regard  to  its  earlier  history  the  main  difficulty  is  to 


280  Modern  Monterey. 

know  where  to  begin  to  speak  of  it.  That  Juan  Rodriguez 
Cabrillo  must  have  passed  the  harbor  in  his  cruise  of  1542; 
that  Viscayno  landed  here,  and  took  possession  for  the 
Spanish  king  in  1602;  that  Father  Junipero  Serra  reached 
Monterey  in  1770,  with  the  good  ship  San  Antonio,  and  on 
the  second  of  June  celebrated  the  first  mass  under  the 
trees — we  have  all  heard  and  read  so  often  that  I  am  afraid 
of  being  "choked  off"  by  the  editor  if  I  attempt  to  say  it 
again.  Still,  there  is  some  excuse  for  lingering  a  moment 
over  the  arrival  of  the  good  priest  Junipero  Serra,  for  he 
built  the  beautiful  Mission  of  San  Carlos,  in  Carmel,  the 
lovely  little  valley  with  its  stretch  of  shining  white  beach, 
and  its  remnants  of  mission  garden  and  old  orchards.  And, 
besides,  the  very  tree  under  which  the  altar  was  erected  for 
the  serving  of  the  mass  is  still  spreading  its  broad  shadow 
over  the  earth,  and  the  tree  still  standing  there  is  proof  that 
the  whole  story  is  true,  if  even  it  had  not  passed  into  history 
as  a  fact.  He  came  ashore;  upon  first  landing,  brought 
thirty-eight  out  of  the  fifty  of  the  ship's  crew,  monks  and 
sailors,  with  him;  and,  after  declaring  the  land  the  property 
of  the  King  of  Spain,  took  spiritual  possession  of  the  realm 
for  his  church.  The  ground  must  have  undergone  consider- 
able change  since  then,  for  where  the  ugly  wooden  cross 
stands  to-day,  marking  the  spot  where  this  first  mass  was 
said,  a  little  run,  or  gulch,  has  washed  its  way  deep  into  the 
soil,  and  the  slope  by  the  tree,  where  the  worshipers  would 
naturally  have  knelt,  is  so  narrow  that  thirty-eight  people 
could  not  possibly  have  crowded  around,  unless  some  of 
them  had  descended  into  this  gulch,  a  proceeding  neither 


Modern  Monterey,  281 

dignified  nor  practicable,  either  then  or  now.  The  tree 
from  which  the  bell  was  suspended  that  bright  June  morning 
has  toppled  over,  and  the  trunk  is  now  lying  prone  in  the 
tiny  stream  it  had  so  long  overhung. 

Monterey  itself  should  be  viewed  afoot.  This  advice  is 
not  an  insinuation  against  the  state  of  the  streets,  though 
the  truth  is  that  every  street  has  a  gully  running  through 
the  center.  The  streets  are  wide  enough,  however,  and  one 
can  drive  either  to  the  right  or  the  left  of  the  ravine,  and,  as 
my  brother  philosophically  remarks,  these  gulches  will  be  of 
considerable  help  in  building  the  sewers.  Some  of  the 
older  streets  run  in  any  and  every  direction  that  happens  to 
suit;  the  newer  ones  run  due  east  and  west,  north  and  south. 
Monterey  has  grown  of  late,  in  both  size  and  importance; 
but  the  newly  erected  American  residences,  I  am  glad  to 
say,  have  nothing  of  the  rectangular,  hard-cornered  look 
about  them  which  new  American  houses  are  apt  to  have. 
A  spirit  of  veneration  for  the  traditional  quaintness  of  the 
old  capital  seems  to  have  mercifully  guided  the  hand  of  the 
designing  architect,  and  the  result  is  that  the  modern  feat- 
ures of  the  town  blend  harmoniously  with  what  was  already 
there  when  the  Americans  came.  And  surely,  what  they 
found  there  could  not  have  been  so  utterly  despicable. 
The  place  had  been  the  residence  of  the  Spanish  governors 
for  fifty  years,  and  of  the  Mexican  governors  for  twenty-five. 
To  be  sure,  we  know  how  far  removed  from  the  center  of 
civilization  California  was  in,  those  days;  still,  there  were 
men  of  character  and  distinction  among  the  long  line  of 
governors,  priests,  generals,  who  once  dwelt  here — men 


282  Modern  Monterey. 

whose  mark  it  is  neither  easy  nor  altogether  desirable  to 
efface. 

Many  of  the  adobe  houses,  solid  two-storied  buildings,  lie 
in  the  midst  of  large  gardens,  surrounded  by  high  walls 
built  of  adobe,  or  the  chalk-stone  found  in  the  vicinity. 
When  built  of  chalk-stone,  the  upper  portion  is  frequently 
of  hard-packed  earth,  overgrown  and  covered  with  shrubs 
and  weeds;  when  raised  of  adobes  alone,  they  are  always 
finished  with  a  layer  or  two  of  red  tiles,  and  above,  and  out 
from  behind  these  gray  walls,  with  their  red  edge,  crowd 
the  green  foliage  of  tree  and  bush,  and  the  tender  pink  and 
golden  yellow  of  apple-blossom  and  the  cloth-of-gold  rose. 
The  gate  is  grated,  permitting  a  broad  view  of  the  garden, 
and  a  glimpse  of  the  interior  of  the  dwelling,  if  the  hall- 
door  happens  to  be  open,  for  the  gate  is  always  just  opposite 
the  front  door  of  the  house.  A  number  of  houses  are  but 
one  story  high,  and  they  are  the  coziest  of  all,  the  generous 
veranda  promising  shade  and  coolness  for  the  summer-time, 
the  heavy  walls  and  deep  fireplaces  insuring  warmth  and 
comfort  for  the  winter  months.  Many  of  the  less  preten- 
tious houses  have  no  fireplace  at  all,  except  the  apology 
that  serves  for  culinary  purposes.  The  climate  is  so  mild 
that  there  is  no  suffering  from  actual  cold — it  is  only  the 
uncomfortable  sensation  creeping  over  one  on  a  long,  rainy 
day  that  needs  to  be  banished  by  looking  at  a  cheerful  fire. 

Quite  a  number  of  the  wealthy  prominent  Americans 
lately  removed  to  Monterey  have  bought  some  of  the 
better  preserved  of  the  old  adobe  structures  and  have  con- 
verted them  into  desirable-  and  attractive  homesteads;  for, 


Modern  Monterey.  283 

no  matter  how  indolent  and  non-progressive  the  Spanish 
population  may  have  been,  there  is  one  element  in  this 
sleepy  old  place  which  never  stood  still — the  plants  and 
flowers  of  field  and  garden.  They  took  no  holiday,  sum- 
mer or  winter,  these  thousands  of  roses,  lilies,  vines  and 
trees;  they  kept  right  on  growing,  growing,  growing,  till 
they  have  covered  houses,  fences,  ruins,  with  a  tangle  of 
scarlet,  gold  and*  purple  blossoms.  In  the  garden  of  a 
Madame  Bonifacio  (I  beg  pardon  for  growing  personal — I 
do  not  know  the  lady,  but  I  want  other  tourists  to  enjoy 
what  I  saw),  there  is  a  trellis  over  the  walk,  from  the  hall- 
door  to  the  gate.  The  entire  trellis  is  covered  with  a  rose 
crowded  with  blossoms,  yellowish  in  color,  the  size  of  a 
breakfast-saucer.  The  stem  of  this  rose  is  a  tree,  as 
large  round  as  the  neck  of  an  ordinary-sized  man.  This 
must  be  seen  to  be  believed,  I  know;  but  it's  there. 

Pretty  well  back,  on  something  of  an  eminence,  stands 
Colton  Hall,  named  after  the  first  American  alcalde  under 
the  military  administration  of  General  Riley.  It  was 
originally  designed  as  both  a  town-hall  and  a  school-house, 
and  answers  the  latter  purpose  still.  No  one  will  ever  go 
into  raptures  over  its  architectural  beauties,  though  the 
building  is  quite  large,  built  of  the  handsome  light  chalk- 
stone,  and  well  finished.  Here  the  first  California  Constitu- 
tion was  framed,  in  September,  1849;  it  is  really  the  cradle 
of  our  State  laws — and  a  good  sound  cradle  it  looks  to  be, 
even  to  this  day.  Beside  it  stands  the  jail  (ominous  juxta- 
position), built  of  imported  stone.  The  cause  of  the  dis- 
tinction enjoyed  by  the  jail  (to  be  erected  of  imported  stone, 


284  Modern  Monterey. 

when  native  chalk-rock  was  good  enough  for  the  town-hall) 
was  in  reality  a  bad  augury  for  Monterey;  for,  during  the 
time  the  government  had  its  seat  here,  these  stones  were 
sent  for  to  build  a  dry-dock  with.  As  soon  as  it  was 
decided  that  the  Legislature  and  the  State  Government 
should  be  removed  to  San  Jos6,  this  project  was  abandoned, 
the  stones  were  used  to  build  the  jail  with,  and,  soon  after, 
Monterey  entered  upon  the  long  sleep  from  which  it  is  only 
just  awaking. 

Closer  in  is  a  long,  two-story,  shaky  adobe  building, 
bearing  every  mark  of  old  age  about  it,  without  having  yet 
advanced  to  the  dignity  of  a  ruin.  This  is  the  Presidio  of 
Spanish  times,  the  cuartel  of  the  Mexican  regime,  and  the 
soldiers'  quarters  of  the  beginning  of  our  own  Government. 
It  lies  in  the  heart  of  the  town,  abandoned  and  deserted, 
save  for  a  room  or  two  in  the  lower  story,  where  otherwise 
homeless  wanderers  at  intervals  take  up  their  abode.  The 
fort  itself,  and  the  casamata — the  place  where  the  powder 
and  shot  were  stored,  and  the  cannon  were  kept — are  out  on 
the  hill,  to  the  west  of  the  town;  and,  as  I  had  a  great 
curiosity  to  inspect  these  relics  close  by,  we  wended  our 
way  through  the  busy  streets,  and  were  soon  ascending  the 
hill.  On  the  lower  terrace,  overlooking  the  Bay  of  Monte- 
rey, stand  the  remains  of  thick  adobe  walls,  with  a  heavy, 
blackened  log  protruding  here  and  there  from  the  heaps  of 
debris.  This  is  the  casamata.  No  other  traces  of  older 
fortifications  are  visible  on  this  plateau;  but  back  of  this,  on 
the  summit  of  the  hill,  there  is  still  a  solitary  cannon,  point- 
ing its  warning  finger  at  the  bay.  Steep  as  the  climb  was, 


Modern  Monterey,  285 

we  mounted  to  the  rampart  and  descended  into  the  interior. 
The  earthworks  had  been  star-shaped.  From  the  main 
road  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  I  had  often  noticed  a  low  roof, 
barely  visible  above  the  outer  walls.  Now  I  had  the  grati- 
fication of  seeing  it  near  by,  at  last,  and  found  that  it  was 
the  block -house — the  last  resort  of  the  garrison,  had  the 
outworks  ever  been  taken.  The  sturdy  old  thing  looked 
defiant  even  now,  with  its  notched  loop-holes  and  impene- 
trable timbers;  but  out  of  the  low  entrance-door  hung  wisps 
of  hay  and  bundles  of  straw,  showing  that  it  had  degener- 
ated into  a  mere  storehouse  for  the  abundant  grain  that  now 
grows  around  it.  A  little  farther  back,  but  well  protected 
by  the  cannon  of  the  fort  in  former  times,  are  the  ruins  of 
the  soldiers'  barracks,  with  no  signs  of  life  about  them,  save 
that  a  lizard  glides  swiftly  by  over  fallen  logs  and  decaying 
timbers.  The  officers'  quarters  were  in  better  condition, 
and  we  mounted  the  stairs  that  led,  on  the  outside,  to  the 
upper  story.  Messieurs  the  officers  had  been  comfortably 
fixed,  as  usual,  I'll  warrant;  large,  well  lighted  rooms,  fire- 
places, and  the  most  magnificent  view  imaginable.  Stand- 
ing on  the  rude  balcony,  which  the  landing  of  the  stairs 
forms  in  front  of  the  house,  one  gets  a  wide  look  across  bay 
and  city.  Over  these  placid  waters  there  the  Savannah 
came  gliding,  on  the  second  of  July,  in  1846;  and  on  the 
seventh  of  the  same  month  the  stars  and  stripes  were  raised 
by  Commodore  Sloat,  right  here  in  front  of  us,  over  the 
old  Mexican  casamata,  and  yonder  in  the  town,  over  that 
rambling,  two-story  adobe  house  I  spoke  of  before.  The 
Mexican  people  were  well  enough  satisfied  to  accept  the 


286  Modern  Monterey. 

Americans  and  their  rule,  so  far  as  I  could  learn  from  Don 
Rosario  Duarte,  who  came  with  Commodore  Dupont  on  the 
Gyane,  as  an  American  marine,  though  a  Spaniard  by  birth; 
but  their  rulers  were  wide  apart  and  divided  in  their  opinions 
on  this  point.  Governor  Pio  Pico,  in  his  little  speech, 
anathematizes  the  ' '  hordes  of  Yankee  immigrants  who 
have  already  begun  to  flock  into  the  country,  and  whose 
progress  cannot  be  arrested." 

"Already,"  he  exclaims,  "  the  wagons  of  this  perfidious 
people  have  scaled  the  well-nigh  inaccessible  summit  of  the 
Sierra  Nevada,  crossed  the  entire  continent,  and  penetrated 
to  the  fruitful  valley  of  the  Sacramento.  What  that  as- 
tounding people  will  next  undertake,  I  cannot  say;  but  in 
whatever  enterprise  they  do  embark  they  will  be  sure  to 
prove  successful."  Thank  you,  friend  Pio  Pico,  we  have 
endeavored  to  verify  your  kind  predictions.  Don  Mariano 
Guadaloupe  Vallejo  showed  a  great  deal  more  ' '  savey  ' '  on 
this  occasion.  He  said:  "Why  should  we  shrink  from 
incorporating  ourselves  with  the  freest  and  happiest  nation  in 
the  world,  destined  soon  to  be  the  most  wealthy  and 
powerful  ?  Why  should  we  go  abroad  for  protection  when 
this  great  nation  is  our  adjoining  neighbor  ?  When  we  join 
our  fortunes  to  hers,  we  shall  not  become  subjects,  but 
fellow-citizens,  possessing  all  the  rights  of  the  people  of  the 
United  States,  and  choosing  our  own  federal  and  local 
rulers. ' ' 

The  only  thing  in  the  way  of  treasure  that  our  soldiers 
got  in  the  city  of  Monterey  at  the  time  of  its  bloodless  cap- 
ture were  one  hundred  and  fifty  pieces  of  ordnance — 


Modern  Monterey.  287 

cannons,  large  and  small — which  are  at  present  decorating 
street  corners  and  serving  as  hitching-posts.  They  are 
stuck  in  the  ground,  without  much  attention  to  "heads  or 
tails,"  and  remind  one — I  don't  mean  to  cast  reflections — 
of  the  bravado  of  most  Mexican  military:  ferocious  of 
aspect,  but  utterly  harmless  and  incapable  of  doing  serious 
injury.  The  heaviest  two  pieces  are  "planted  "  in  front  of 
the  Monterey  Whaling  Company's  office,  near  the  fort,  as  if 
they  had  proved  too  heavy  for  further  hauling.  Next  to 
this  house  (the  Whaling  Company's)  stands  a  red  brick 
building,  of  many  memories.  It  was  built,  very  early,  by 
Mr.  Dickenson,  one  of  the  party  who  came  in  1846,  just 
ahead  of  the  Donners,  and  barely  escaping  their  horrible 
fate.  He  had  with  him  his  wife  and  two  daughters,  young 
ladies  who  were  greatly  sought  after,  and  much  courted  and 
flattered.  The  boldest  admirer  they  ever  had,  however, 
was  an  enormous  grizzly,  who  forced  his  way  into  their 
room  one  night  and  insisted  on  making  them  a  friendly  call 
anyhow,  no  matter  how  strongly  they  objected.  Young 
ladies  had  lungs  in  those  days  as  well  as  now,  and  I  can 
imagine  how  their  cries  and  screams  rang  through  that  old 
brick  house.  One  of  the  young  ladies,  married  long  since, 
lately  presented  a  brick  from  the  wall  of  this  building  to  the 
Society  of  Pioneers. 

The  surroundings  of  Monterey  could  not  well  be  more 
beautiful  if  they  had  been  gotten  up  to  order.  Hills,  gently 
rising,  the  chain  broken  here  and  there  by  a  more  abrupt 
peak,  environ  the  city,  crowned  with  dark  pines  and  the 
more  famous  cypress  of  Monterey  {Cupressus  macrocarpa). 


288  Modern  Monterey. 

The  Lomalto  is  a  bald  peak,  with  a  lower  peak,  more 
gently  sloping,  for  its  neighbor.  The  whole  was  formerly 
called  the  Cerro  San  Carlos — for  to  this  Holy  Charles  seems 
to  have  been  assigned  the  guardianship  of  Monterey  and  the 
Carmel  Mission.  To  the  right,  or  west  of  us,  as  we  stand 
facing  the  bay,  is  the  hill  bearing  the  remains  of  the  old 
fort,  beyond  which  winds  the  road  to  Point  Pinos  and  the 
light-house;  to  the  left  of  us,  east,  lies  a  forest  of  pine  and 
live-oak,  and  above  the  trees  waves  the  flag  from  the  tower 
of  the  new  Hotel  del  Monte.  Before  us  the  bay  lies  calm 
and  blue,  and  away  across,  on  a  light  day,  even  without  the 
aid  of  a  glass,  can  be  seen  the  town  of  Santa  Cruz,  an 
indistinct  white  gleam  on  the  mountain  side. 

And  now,  having  devoted  the  whole  morning  to  historical 
researches — which  led  to  the  discovery  of  an  owl,  a  mole 
and  several  lizards  among  the  ruins  of  the  fort — let  us 
follow  the  waving  of  the  flag,  which  beckons  us  out  of  the 
"dark  forest-green."  A  short  mile  from  the  heart  of  the 
town  lies  the  new  hotel,  over  which  these  crazy,  sleepy  old 
Montereyans  are  fairly  going  wild.  There  are  two  roads  by 
which  to  reach  the  place,  one  along  the  sea-shore,  while  the 
other,  a  longer  drive,  takes  us  by  the  handsome  Catholic 
church,  across  one  or  two  -narrow  lagoons,  and  past  the 
ancient,  as  well  as  modern,  graveyard.  Whichever  way  we 
drive,  we  enter  directly  into  the  forest — not  ' '  grove, ' '  as 
these  horrid  people  call  it,  but  veritable,  venerable,  old- 
fashioned  forest.  Pines  (Pinus  insignis),  trying  their  best 
to  reach  the  stars,  are  intermingled  with  live-oaks  of 
singularly  tall,  straight  growth  (Quercus  agrifolia).  There 


Modern   Monterey.  289 

is  nothing  gnarled  or  stunted  about  them ;  no  bleak  wind 
has  ever  crippled  their  growth,  or  distorted  the  solid  trunk 
into  weird,  repulsive  shapes.  Evenly  the  long,  low-hanging 
branches  spread  on  every  side,  giving  shade  and  protection 
to  hundreds  of  flowers  and  ferns.  A  thick  carpet  of  native 
grasses  serves  them  for  bed,  and  the  poison-oak,  the  bane 
and  pest  of  most  California  country  resorts,  is  conspicuous 
only  by  its  entire  absence. 

The  horses  seem  to  check  their  speed  of  their  own  accord 
as  they  enter  this  solemn  forest  dome,  and  I  am  just  about 
to  make  myself  ridiculous,  by  the  suggestion  that  they  are 
listening  to  the  peculiar,  low,  soothing  whisper  that  the 
wind  breathes  through  the  tree  tops,  when  a  cry  of  surprise 
cuts  off  my  brilliant  remark.  A  fairy  castle  has  just  risen 
out  of  the  ground,  or  dropped  from  the  skies,  and  rests 
airily  among  the  trees  in  the  distance.  I  was  afraid  to 
'  breathe  when  I  saw  it  first,  for  fear  of  dispelling  the  vision ; 
but,  as  we  approach,  the  thing  assumes  more  solid  lines,  a 
more  substantial  shape,  and  I  find  that  we  are  right  in  front 
of  the  much-talked-of  new  hotel.  O&ncroft  LJhrmMu 

Who  planned  the  place,  or  laid  it  out,  in  the  common 
parlance  of  mortals,  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  what  it 
cost,  and  don't  want  to  know.  Don't,  for  pity's  sake,  let 
us  destroy  the  few  aesthetically  romantic  impressions  that 
are  graciously  vouchsafed  us  in  this  land  of  dollars  and 
cents.  Let  us  enjoy  the  rare  pleasure  of  ranging  around 
and  through  the  place  without  giving  heed  to  the  fact  that 
the  architect's  rule  and  the  carpenter's  square  were  employed 
in  its  construction.  For  the  information  of  those  prosaic 


290  Modern  Monterey, 

beings  who  must  have  feet  and  inches,  let  me  say  that  the 
building  is  very  nearly  three  hundred  and  seventy-five  feet 
long,  three  stories  high  in  some  parts,  four  in  others.  The 
whole,  on  closer  inspection,  seems  a  happy  mixture  of  forest 
chateau,  Italian  villa,  and  old  English  country  seat,  though 
they  call  it,  I  believe,  Queen  Anne  or  East-lake  style.  Out- 
side are  the  spacious  verandas  of  the  Italian  villla,  inside  are 
the  wide  halls  and  generous  fireplaces  of  the  English  manor- 
house.  Outside,  the  lofty  forest,  the  blue  waters  of  Lake 
Como,  vulgo  Laguna  Segunda,  blinking  through  the  dis- 
tance, form  incomparable  scenery.  Inside,  the  broad  stair- 
cases, the  many-shaped  windows,  each  framing  in  a  sylvan 
view,  the  variously  arrayed  rooms  in  the  different  towers,  the 
manifold  entrances  and  exits,  always  leading  into  the  forest- 
green,  make  the  house  picturesque.  Now,  I  don't  really 
know  whether  interiors  can  be  picturesque — I  don't  know 
whether  artists  allow  that  term ;  but  I  insist  that  ' '  pictur- 
esque ' '  is  the  only  correct  word  to  apply  to  the  inside  of 
that  building. 

A  drive  is  to  be  constructed  from  the  east  of  Monterey, 
along  the  beach,  by  the  whaling  station,  all  the  way  around 
Point  Pinos  and  the  light-house,  along  Moss  Beach,  to  Cy- 
press Point,  to  the  old  Mission,  and  across  the  country,  back 
again  to  the  hotel.  A  Cliff  House  is  to  be  built  on  the  high- 
est, most  wildly  romantic  spot  near  Point  Cypress — a  resort 
for  the  people  at  the  hotel  and  for  * '  citizens  at  large. ' '  The 
fact  is,  that  if  any  one  undertakes  the  entire  drive  in  one  day 
they  will  want  some  kind  of  a  resort  on  the  way.  There  is 
also  a  race-course  near  the  hotel,  and  all  the  walks  and 


Modern  Monterey,  291 

drives,  near  and  far,  are  being  constructed  of  gravel  brought 
from  Soledad.  Of  this  large  tract  of  land,  small  tracts  will 
be  sold  to  people  who  wish  to  establish  a  permanent  sum- 
mer residence  in  the  country.  Some  of  the  land  in  the  vi- 
cinity of  the  hotel  has  been  divided  off  for  this  purpose  also, 
and  so  near  to  it  that  people  who  are  afraid  of  the  drudgery 
of  housekeeping  can  take  their  meals  at  the  hotel. 

California  enterprise,  by  the  way,  was  never  better  illus- 
trated than  in  the  erection  of  this  hotel.  On  the  fifteenth  of 
January,  of  this  year,  the  giants  of  the  forest  held  undisputed 
possession  of  the  ground  which  the  house  now  covers.  On 
the  first  of  February  the  architect  arrived  with  his  force  of 
men.  At  the  time  of  the  present  writing  (May  I5th)  there 
are  over  three  hundred  men  still  at  work  in  the  house  and  on 
grounds;  and  on  the  third  of  June,  before  this  paper  is  laid 
before  the  reader,  the  hotel  will  be  thrown  open  to  the  public. 

It  was  a  day  of  rare  enjoyment  that  I  spent  there;  and  as 
I,  like  the  cook,  Frederika,  in  Old  Man? selle* s  Secret,  always 
think  of  others,  I  gathered  what  I  could  of  the  many  wild 
flowers  growing  there,  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  take  an 
interest  in  our  California  flora,  and  brought  them  home  to 
Dr.  Behr,  who  has  kindly  given  me  the  botanical  names  of 
the  different  varieties  my  basket  held.  They  are  the  Aquil- 
egia,  Viola  aurea,  Orthocarpus,  Castilleja,  Convolvulus ', 
Collinsie,  Eschscholtzia,  and  others,  which  I  had  carelessly 
so  mutilated  as  to  be  unrecognizable.  The  backward  season 
has  been  more  severely  felt  by  the  butterflies  than  the 
flowers,  and  there  was  not  so  great  a  variety  as  there  should 
be.  But  among  those  who  have  their  home  and  being  there 


292  Modern  Monterey. 

the  Doctor  mentions  these:  Anthocharis  sara,  the  Melitoea, 
Ccenongrepha  Calif ornica.  And  apropos  of  the  Doctor,  he 
is  really  heaping  coals  of  fire  on  my  head,  for  I  once  cut 
very  deeply  into  his  scientist  heart.  When  it  came  time  for 
my  usual  spring-flitting,  several  years  ago,  he  said  to  me: 

"Toward  the  south,  where  you  are  going  now,  there  is  a 
blue  butterfly  which  has  not  yet  been  classified.  If  you  bring 
me  a  specimen  of  this  butterfly  it  shall  be  named  after  you> 
I  promise." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  the  Doctor  understands  a 
woman's  nature  at  least  as  well  as  that  of  a  rattle-snake  or  a 
tarantula-hawk.  He  did  not  say,  "Madame,  I  expect  you 
to  devote  a  few  spare  moments  to  the  advancement  of  science 
in  our  new  country. ' '  He  simply  stimulated  my  activity  by 
promising  that  my  name  should  ride  down  to  prosperity  on 
the  back  of  a  blue  butterfly.  Well,  I  stopped  at  San  Luis 
Obispo,  climbed  the  height  of  the  Santa  Lucia  Mountain,  and 
almost  the  first  thing  I  saw  was  a  magnificent  blue  butterfly. 
My  escort  captured  it,  after  some  trouble.  It  was  cruelly 
impaled  on  a  pin,  which  I  stuck,  for  better  security,  into  the 
log  upon  which  I  had  sat  down  for  a  rest.  On  my  return  to 
the  city  I  hastened  to  Dr.  Behr,  told  him  where  I  had  found 
the  blue  butterfly,  and  described  it  most  minutely.  The 
Doctor  rubbed  his  hands  in  high  glee. 

"  The  description  is  correct,"  he  said,  nodding;  "  it  must 
be  the  right  thing.  The  whole  tribe  shall  be  called  by 
your  name  now.  But  where  is  the  specimen  ?  Let  me 
have  it." 

"What,  the  butterfly  ?"    I  asked.      "Oh,  that's  on  the 


Modern  Monterey.  293 

top  of  the  Santa  Lucia  Mountain.  I  came  away  and  forgot 
it  there." 

You  should  have  seen  the  Doctor's  face!  Out  loud  he 
said  nothing,  but  I'd  give  something  pretty  to  know  what 
his  private  opinion  was  just  then  of  women  in  general  and 
myself  in  particular. 

No  Monterey  trip  is  complete  without  a  visit  to  the  old 
Mission.  A  lovely  spot,  this  narrow  Carmelo  Valley,  leading 
to  the  sea,  or  the  bay  rather,  which  takes  its  name,  I  sup- 
pose, from  the  Carmel  River  emptying  within  it.  It  is  a  pity 
that  these  old  places  are  allowed  to  go  to  decay.  This  build- 
ing here,  at  least,  might  be  preserved,  if  not  restored,  as  it 
is  built  of  stone — the  light-yellow  chalk-stone  of  the  country. 
The  roof  has  most  all  fallen,  but  the  architecture  and  con- 
struction of  the  old  building  would  disgrace  no  builder  of  the 
present  day.  It  has  the  slightly  Moorish  tone  which  I  im- 
agine I  can  discover  in  all  these  places  built  by  the  Spanish 
padres. 

The  bells  are  gone  from  out  of  the  towers,  but  the  deli- 
cately wrought  cross  on  one  still  points  to  heaven.  Of  the 
twelve  arches  which  originally  spanned  the  nave,  some  are 
quite  solid,  and  could  easily  support  a  roof;  and  if  the  whole 
were  restored,  it  would  be  one  of  the  grandest  monuments 
we  could  bequeath  to  grateful  generations  coming  after  us. 

No  wonder  Father  Junipero  Serro  loved  the  spot  so  well 
that  he  wanted  to  be  laid  to  rest  here,  where  he  had  per- 
formed so  important  a  part  of  his  life's  labor.  The  land  was 
rich  with  the  grain  he  had  sown,  and  the  docile  Indians  who 
trimmed  his  vines  in  the  Mission  garden  loved  him,  perhaps 


294  Modern  Monterey. 

more  devotedly  than  their  newly  given  God,  for  they  could 
not  see  Him,  while  the  good  padre  provided  for  them  as  a 
father  does  for  his  children.  But  now  comes  the  knotty 
point,  over  which  there  has  been  so  much  contention.  That 
the  padre  was  buried  inside  of  the  old  church,  there  seems 
to  be  no  doubt.  The  question  is,  what  became  of  his  bones  ? 
Long  after  the  mission  system  "had  outlived  its  usefulness," 
the  bishops  of  San  Luis,  Los  Angeles,  and  San  Juan 
Bautista,  came  in  solemn  state  to  remove  the  sacred  remains 
to  a  place  not  so  dilapidated  as  the  Mission  church  had  be- 
come. To  their  consternation,  they  found  nothing  to  re- 
move; and,  though  the  story  was  hushed  up  as  much  as 
possible,  all  sorts  of  rumors  went  flying  among  the  super- 
stitious Catholics  of  Spanish  and  Indian  blood,  as  to  what 
had  become  of  the  good  father's  bones.  Having  some  curi- 
osity on  the  subject  myself,  I  once  more  sought  my  oracle, 
Don  Rosario  Duarte,  and  asked  what  he  thought  had  be- 
come of  this  pious  man's  ashes. 

"That,"  he  said,  "I  can  tell  you.  My  mother-in-law, 
who  died  ten  years  since,  at  an  advanced  age,  has  told  me  a 
hundred  times  of  the  deputation  of  high  officials  and  humble 
monks  who  came  all  the  way  out  from  Spain  to  carry  back 
with  them  the  bones  and  ashes  of  Father  Junipero  Serro. 
There  are  still  three  of  the  old  Mission  Indians  living  here  in 
town.  One  of  them,  a  woman  named  Yumesa,  will  corrobo- 
rate my  statement,  for  she  claims  that  she  can  recollect  how 
every  one  of  the  caballeros  and  monjes  comprising  this  dep- 
utation looked." 

I  tried  my  best  to  find  Yumesa,  not  because  I  doubted 


Modern  Monterey.  295 

Don  Rosario's  word,  but  because  I  wanted  to  see  what  a 
real,  live  Mission  Indian  looked  like.  I  failed  to  discover 
her;  but  of  the  thousands  who  will  flock  to  Monterey  in  the 
course  of  this  summer,  I  hope  that  some  one  may  make  it  a 
special  task  to  find  and  interview  Yumesa. 


' 


